Mending Wall
by skyebugs
Summary: This story begins some years after the final scene in GWTW.
1. Back in the game

**I do not own GWTW or any of its characters. This was my first ever attempt at GWTW fan fiction.**

"My sincerest congratulations, Scarlett. It seems you are with child again."

The woman in front of him didn't look happy, worried or faintly annoyed, as she had on the previous occasions he had imparted such news to her. She seemed surprised, genuinely surprised, as if, of all the news she could have received, this was what she had least expected.

She stood motionless for a long while, staring at the porcelain inkwell on his desk as though it was the first time she had seen one, and then, as Dr. Meade was about to lose his patience, she fixed her eyes on him, with the briefest of flames in them.

"Are you sure? Absolutely, completely sure?"

The doctor shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He remembered the businesslike tone she had assumed after the war, before leaving Atlanta, but hadn't expected to find it extended to such delicate matters. She didn't even blush as she asked the question, and her gaze didn't waver for an instant.

"Taking into account all of the manifestations, this seems to be the case. So yes, as far as my medical knowledge is concerned, I'm positive. But then again, women, especially if they already have children, have their own way of knowing such things."

He had hinted at her previous four pregnancies and regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth. It was unnecessarily cruel to remind a woman who had lost both her daughter and an unborn child of her pregnancies, even if that woman happened to be Scarlett Butler. He meant to apologize, but the moment of awkwardness had already passed, and she didn't look offended. In fact, once the embarrassing silence had been broken, Scarlett seemed to remember herself, and the look of almost painful concentration of before was replaced by a sweet smile.

"Yes, it's truly a wonder that I didn't it see it myself. But I guess I needed a doctor's confirmation. I couldn't possibly trust myself to hope after all these years. Thank you, Doctor."

Some fifteen minutes later, after walking Scarlett to her carriage, Dr. Meade reclined in his chair with a sigh of relief. Like many of his neighbors, at some point he'd had an acute interest in the inner workings of the Butler marriage, though he would have died rather than admit it. Idle speculation on the petty battles inherent to each and every marriage in this world was a topic to occupy the minds of women and servants, who, in his experience, were generally limited in the pursuit of higher intellectual interests. It certainly wasn't a subject worthy of a man's contemplation, and especially not of a man's of Dr. Meade's standing and authority. He had known all that, and yet he had wondered.

But what his sense of his own consequence—otherwise perfectly acute—had been unable to accomplish in terms of diminishing that interest, had been achieved by the Butlers' removal from Atlanta some years before, and now the doctor found himself unwilling to return to his previous state. Whatever had happened to turn the news of her pregnancy into a shock for Scarlett and cause her feeble attempt at feigning joy, he didn't know and, more importantly, didn't care to know.

~~o~~

No, it wasn't joy, or happiness, or even worry, though there should have been; it was astonishment that paralyzed Scarlett's mind as the carriage drove her to the National. And out of that astonishment rose fear, a fear she couldn't analyze, but that settled heavily in her throat and made her heart increase its rhythm.

She tried to focus, to drive away some of the tension by counting the houses she was passing by, but, instead of a neat row of outlines, she only saw violent patches of color that wouldn't blend together, so she had to give up. What was there to fear, she reasoned. She was a married woman carrying her husband's child, not some silly green girl defiled by one of her beaux. But the soothing argument was a weak dam against the fear that kept rising from the deepest layers of her mind, trying to reach her conscience, until it finally formed a coherent thought. She stood to lose everything she had won, marriage and all, everything she had built with so much effort during the last years.

For she had indeed won. It was 1878 and, on a suffocating Charleston night almost three years before, Rhett had given in, stating in a flat voice that it had proven more tiresome to fight against her than it had been to fight for her. It was far from the declaration she had expected, but it didn't matter. As long as he was willing to give her a chance, remain her husband and share a bed with her, she was confident she could make him love her. It never occurred to her he hadn't meant their marriage was worth saving, but that it was unworthy of the effort dissolving it would imply. And if it had, she would have just added it to the list of things time would surely change. Time and her determination to be a good wife.

And she had been a good wife, for the most part. True, her temper flared from time to time, yet that had only led to trivial quarrels. She had decided the best way of winning Rhett's heart would be by abiding his every wish, a system prone to comical failures, since she was still poor at figuring what it was that he wanted. Rhett could have told her from his experience that no amount of pampering brings love, but he never commented on her attempts. He was seemingly content with their life, which in turn made that life comfortable. And after some time it became easier for her. She no longer had to fight the urge to check impatiently every other hour for some sign of love. The waiting turned into a habit, and then, with the same shortsighted energy that made her regard money as a value in itself, she forgot it had been Rhett's love, and not his mere presence in their marriage, what she had been after.

They settled in Charleston and traveled quite frequently, though never to places that had any significance to their past lives. They had been to Europe on a few occasions and Rhett had taken her and the children to New York and Washington one year. She'd hung on his arm, just marginally less wide eyed than Ella, and she'd been happy, because she felt he was sharing something of his old life with them. But when it came to meeting an old business partner in New Orleans, he had not offered to take her with him. And when, after a few months in Charleston, Scarlett was homesick and mentioned going to Tara, he had promptly made the arrangements for her to go alone.

They wouldn't have returned to Atlanta for years to come, had it not been for the misfortune of one Miss Jane Fannigan, who had been raped in Atlanta's outskirts a mere month ago. The incident set the town afire with rage and moral indignation. There were whispers of an impending Klan intervention. Every black man for as far as 5 miles was a suspect. It all came to a sudden end when Jane, a girl of rare spirit, was well enough to say the two men were not only white, but also Georgian by accent. Atlanta shuddered, closed its eyes and resigned to the fact the incident must now amount to nothing, outside the sad fate of a girl who, at 24, was already past her bloom, and most likely never to marry.

But then a knight came to rescue both the girl and the pride of all Southern men, a knight in the shape of a short, white-haired, pot-bellied lawyer. His armor was a bit tarnished, and his pants obviously mended, but the fair lady accepted his proposal nonetheless. And order in the universe was restored by the engagement of Jane Fannigan to Henry Hamilton. Their nuptials were to be discreet, as discreet as the presence of a large number of the groom's relatives and acquaintances, including the Butler family from Charleston, would allow them to be.

_She read Pittypat's letter disclosing the details of her brother's engagement to Rhett, thinking it would amuse him. When such monthly missives first began to arrive, she had been reluctant to read them to him, for Atlanta was their past, and past was always best left dead. But, just as they had silently agreed upon an abridged history of their marriage, they soon adopted their own map of Atlanta, a map with convenient blank spots for the Peachtree mansion and a series of other places, so they could talk freely about generally happy memories. And it became custom for her to read aloud the letters and for Rhett to employ his old tone in mocking Pitty's antics. _

_Raising her eyes from the piece of paper, she mistook his dark expression for one of silent expectation and charged in._

_"Isn't that the most ridiculous thing you've ever heard? Great balls of fire, he must be eighty by now, and he's always been opposed to marriage. For him to marry someone out of mercy—"_

_"It's not mercy. If he'd felt sorry for the girl, he would have talked Ashley or any other malleable gentleman into marrying her. There's one reason only for a man who's been a bachelor all his life and happy with it to rush into wedlock," said Rhett with sudden bitterness. "He loves her, pathetic fool that he is." _

_"Nonsense. It says right here that he—"_

_"You know, dear, both you and your Aunt Pitty should just give up trying to guess what goes through a man's heart. And I daresay the world would be a better, though far less amusing, place."_

_He lightly patted her hand and was out of the room. Scarlett felt a painful lump rising in her throat. His gently mocking remarks were much harder to stand than the old biting sarcasm, because she couldn't hurl heated insults at him. She tried to please Rhett harder than she had tried to please anyone in her entire life, Ellen included, but sometimes she couldn't help but feel that she was butting her head against a stonewall._

~~o~~

Pregnancy was the last of a series of stonewalls that seemed to rise around each corner, mocking her efforts. However, out of all the obstacles, this was by far the most unexpected. How could it have happened? Since their reconciliation, they had been using preventatives. Rhett had put it quite bluntly as a condition for them to share a bed again, and she had acquiesced, biting her tongue till she could feel a hint of blood in her mouth not to burst into angry remarks or, even worse, cry. It shouldn't have come as a surprise. She had long known Rhett was on familiar terms with the shadowy world of brothels and its wicked devices. She was even more bitterly aware of the fact that he didn't want any more children. Still, the pain had risen as if from newly inflicted wounds, and it took all her willpower to overcome it.

At first she had hoped, despite reason, that it wouldn't work, that they weren't safe, and she would fall pregnant nonetheless. But after a couple of months, it became clear it wasn't going to happen and she gave up the thought, or rather pushed it at the back of her mind, like she did with all disturbing thoughts. Still the longing stole over her sometimes, unexpectedly, like a subterranean water fighting its way to the surface in broken, painful rushes. It was one of the reasons she had only been to Tara twice since her reconciliation with Rhett. Suellen's never-ending series of pregnancies and her constant complaining on the subject had been nearly unbearable and had hastened Scarlett's departure both times. Luckily, her sister's complaints could not follow her to Charleston, for Suellen was far from a faithful correspondent and Will—whether guided by thoughtfulness or by his own inclination—accounted of his family's state in the same succinct terms he did of Tara's yearly crops.

So when Scarlett had started to feel nauseous in the mornings, this had been the last thing on her mind. Actually, the very first thing was a mild annoyance at having to see Dr. Meade. Why did she have to fall ill while visiting Atlanta, of all times? They lived in Charleston and spent at least a couple of months each year in London, and she had her doctors in both locations. She suffered from a variety of small pains, some dating from her fall and subsequent miscarriage, others less easily traceable. She had first gone to see a doctor in London, but left slamming the door when he suggested hysteria. She had heard enough tales to know that this was the diagnosis doctors usually applied to rich and handsome ladies, since the treatment involved an expensive and energetic massage, merely a doctor's way of getting under a woman's skirts. The next doctor was more sympathetic to her pains, ascribed it to some minor condition and recommended Vin Mariani, a treatment Scarlett found very much to her taste. She would have gladly picked that doctor over old Dr. Meade at any time.

It was Dr. Meade that had witnessed her displeasure at finding she was carrying Ella, and later Bonnie. He had seen her blush remembering the details of the night Rhett had carried her upstairs. God only knows what he must have assumed that day, she thought bitterly. He even knew that she and her husband hadn't been sharing a bed for some time. And now it had to be Dr. Meade to break this last piece of news, and watch with barely disguised disdain as she failed once again to act like a lady under the circumstances. But how could she have behaved properly when her mind reeled with the implications of this information?

Her head began to ache as she tried to imagine Rhett's reaction. It wasn't likely for him to be happy with the news. How nice that would have been though! To have this child as an ally, as the most powerful weapon for maintaining their marriage. But as it was, Rhett would probably only get angry with her. He would blame her for it, though this was clearly not her fault. Suppose he accused her of being unfaithful. Oh, she couldn't face that, not again!

As the carriage halted outside the National Hotel, Scarlett squared her shoulders. This was one of the small gestures she had lost through the years. She had been so preoccupied with getting Rhett back, had fought so long and so hard that, by the time the battle was over, a large part of her old self was gone, though there was no one to tell her that. But now she needed that old strain of energy, and a simple gesture seemed to bring some of it back. She had to face Rhett and find the best way to tell him. She had to face things she had thought long buried. And, with a sigh of dejection, she realized she had been wrong in assuming she had won the battle. She had been wrong and she was in for another struggle.

***Vin Mariani is a brand of cocawine. It contains alcohol and cocaine (extracted from coca leaves). It was a popular tonic at the time, used as a cure-all. **


	2. Of glory in the flower

By the time Scarlett had reached their hotel suite, part of her courage had vanished. If only God could find it in his heart to let Rhett be out. It wasn't that her resolve had withered, she knew she had to tell him, but did it have to be now or never? She needed more time. She needed to sit alone and undisturbed, and devise a plan so, when the moment came, she would have the right words to make him understand everything. And even if she did accomplish that, if she did convince him it was all for the better, she'd still have to come up with more words, for that surely wouldn't be their last conversation. She had learned the hard way that if you won a victory over Rhett and you were so foolish as to show him you rejoiced in it, you'd soon have no victory to be joyous about. She had to maintain her composure at all costs, especially if she was successful. And, if success meant restraining anything beyond reserved smiles, she shuddered to think what failure would imply.

She breathed in and opened the door to the parlor, expecting to find Rhett lounging in one of the armchairs with a cigar. Wishful thinking aside, she could still postpone the dreaded moment by keeping a straight countenance. If she entered like that, and she was sure she looked ghastly, he would know instantaneously something was wrong, even without knowing she hadn't been running some errands after visiting Pitty, as she had claimed. Oh, but he'd catch on to that lie too, she thought dejectedly, and it was but a small comfort to know that that would be the least of her problems. She summoned her best expression—a smile designed to look calm and determined, without losing its sweetness. She reasoned it couldn't hurt to put on the most charming of faces when it came to fooling Rhett.

Charming or not, her face sent Ella, who was seemingly the room's only occupant, into a rushed exclamation of "Oh, she lied! It's not my fault!". Her mother's expressions changed by the minute, but Ella was particularly skilled at recognizing the dangerous ones. When her mother had that tense smile, like the man at the circus that time, the one who was balancing swords on his head, trouble wasn't far behind. It was better to take refuge in the kitchen and let Uncle Rhett or Wade handle Mother. They always knew what to do. Well, at least Uncle Rhett did, he could always pacify her, and afterwards Mother would be nice to her for days to come. And Wade, he was so brave, he had even stood up to Mother the last time she scolded him. It was she, Ella, that had no idea what to do. She wasn't smart and courageous like Uncle Rhett or Wade, and they weren't here to protect her. And she didn't even have the kitchen or the back yard to seek shelter to, like she had back in Charleston. She had to stay and face her mother.

"Lied? Who lied?"

"Suzie Picard. She did, I swear. I don't know what she said to you, but it wasn't my fault. Uncle Rhett said it wasn't, cause I never meant for her hat to fall into the river. And it wasn't completely ruined either when we got it out, but she was so angry, she went red in the face, and she wouldn't listen. But you don't need to worry. Uncle Rhett said he'd help me buy her a new one. So, you see, I'll give it to her as a present and she won't be mad at me no more."

Just as she was going out of air, she was cut off by her mother's annoyed voice. "Dear God, can't you talk straight? Why did you throw her hat in the river? And when were you at the river anyhow? Rhett took you? Where is he?"

The girl squirmed uneasily on the settee. This was the problem with adults. Their questions came so fast, how was one supposed to mind all of them? It was as if they expected you to walk around carrying pen and paper to write down all they said, but then she was sure no twelve-year-old could write that fast. And even if you did manage to grasp all of the questions, you wouldn't be able to decide which one to answer. The first, the last, the one you deemed most important? They would still scowl at you and say you couldn't answer a simple question. But they never asked simple questions, none of them, except for Uncle Rhett. He would wait for your answer without frowning, and, if you couldn't come up with one, he'd give you his and you'd realize that that was what you wanted to say all along. Oh, why wasn't he here to answer all these questions for her! Mother wouldn't get mad at him.

She tried her best to think of an answer, but her mind drifted off, as another memory from the circus surfaced. The man with a thousand handkerchiefs in all colors and shapes coming out of his bottomless pocket. Her mother with an endless string of colorful questions flying from her lips. She giggled before she could catch herself.

"But I didn't throw her hat in the river. I dropped it. She gave it to me cause she needed to fix her curls, and then her little sister pushed me and I dropped it. So it wasn't my fault really. It was more like her fault. If she had tightened her ribbons properly, she wouldn't have had her hair all over the place. Or if she'd taught her sister some manners…"

Her mother was rolling her eyes. She had obviously chosen the wrong question. She hurried to the next one.

"Uncle Rhett and I went for a walk after you left, and we met Mrs. Merriwether and Mrs. Bonnell. They were going for a picnic with their granddaughters, and they asked Uncle Rhett if I could join them, cause it's been so long since they've seen me. And Uncle Rhett said 'yes', and he offered to come with us. We went to that river that flows close to Aunt Pittypat's house. Outside of town."

"You mean Peachtree Creek? That's not a river, it's merely a trickle!"

"I thought so myself, but I was wrong. When I told the girls that it was nothing compared to the rivers we have in South Carolina, or the ones I've seen in Europe, they said I was jealous and conceited, and that they didn't want to talk with jealous and conceited people. But Uncle Rhett fixed everything. He said there were no small rivers, only small sailors. And he's a great sailor, he sailed the world during the war, and he's more than proud to visit Peachtree Creek. So it is a river after all... Hasn't he told you that before?"

Scarlett sighed in frustration. One could never get an answer out of Ella. Once she started talking, it was impossible to stop her or to make any sense of her ramblings.

"Forget about the river. Where is Rhett?"

"He said he needed to see some old friends, but—"

"Oh, has he been gone long?"

"I'm not sure. We returned from the river and he left. We passed by Aunt Pitty's house, but you weren't there, so he said maybe he'd meet you downtown."

"Saints preserve us!" she inwardly cringed. She hadn't expected this and her relief at not finding Rhett in their suite vanished. Why was he interested in her itinerary anyway? Since their arrival in Atlanta, he had already offered some errands as an excuse for going out, with a face that didn't invite further questioning. The cemetery, Belle's, she had managed to suppress the disquieting thoughts and not ask him anything. It was only natural to expect the same courtesy from him. Suppose he came across Dr. Meade. The old goat won't tell him the news, she was sure of that, but he might mention her visit to his office. And then she would have to answer Rhett's questions instead of finding her own words to tell him.

She began to pace the room, rubbing her temples, but stopped short in front of an armchair, that was quite obviously the place Ella had considered appropriate for discarding her shawl, along with some half-faded flowers.

"How many times have I told you not to throw your things around like that? And you spoiled your shawl by so carelessly putting those flowers in it!"

"No, I knew they were dirty. That's why Uncle Rhett gave me his handkerchief to wrap their stems, so they wouldn't stain my shawl."

But Scarlett wasn't listening to her daughter's proud explanation. She took the flowers and sat in the armchair. For a brief moment she just stared at the unimpressive bouquet, and then started to unwrap the handkerchief from around it, with slow, gentle motions as if she was expecting something, as if some hidden meaning would emerge from behind the flowers if only she looked carefully enough. But nothing came, no flash of light, no revelation. Stripped of the cloth, the flowers were still ugly and faded; they held no reminiscence to explain her strange feeling at seeing them. She opened her fist and looked at Rhett's handkerchief—crumpled and stained with green. And then she remembered.

It had been the day Rhett had brought her the green bonnet, convincing her to drop mourning, the day he'd given that chaste peck on the cheek. She remembered all of it in surprising detail, down to the warm light that pervaded everything and the smell of the air. It had to be June. Yes, it was June, the June of 1863, before Gettysburg, when they were all still hoping for the best. She had somehow managed to convince Melanie to come along and pick flowers for the hospital. Melanie had always regarded this as time stolen from their real duty. The wounded needed care much more than they needed flowers, and besides, whenever Atlanta's belles managed to organize a picnic— and it had happened so often during the hope-imbued spring of 1863—they would return with enough flowers to pave the entire length of Peachtree Street and still have some to spare for the hospital.

But Melanie had come nonetheless, because her sister-in-law had asked her to. And, once they were there, she had shyly expressed a wish to remain seated near the carriage and wait for Scarlett and Captain Butler to pick the flowers and bring them to her. She would arrange them in closed boxes with wet clothes, to spare them from withering in the scorching heat. At the time, Scarlett had been surprised by this turn of events. It was strangely similar to the schemes she and Cathleen Calvert would employ back at Tara, when one of them needed time alone with a beau, except that she couldn't imagine her sister-in-law to be that cunning. Nonetheless, she had rejoiced in Melanie's decision.

Now she saw it all more clearly, and with that realization came indelible guilt. Melly had said she was a little tired, and, for her to admit something like that, it had most certainly been an underestimation. She had been working at the hospital the entire morning, whereas she, Scarlett, had feigned a headache to escape her duties. It had seemed the right thing to do at the time, but now, looking back, she felt a pang of remorse. Of course, going to the hospital was foolish, but, if she couldn't have convinced Melanie to feign a headache herself, she should have gone there to help her.

She clutched the handkerchief, trying to erase the pale face of Melanie from her mind. There was no use in torturing oneself like that, since there was no hope of ever changing the past. And besides, it hadn't been just the dislike she harbored for her sister-in-law at the time what had made her so glad to be rid of her. It had been the opportunity of being alone with Rhett. That afternoon she had been determined to use all her charms to trick Rhett into admitting his feelings.

It hadn't mattered that he had openly said he didn't love her, she knew that it had to be a lie, for he brought her presents and took her out dancing, and, to her mind, those were only one step away from a proposal. She smiled now at the foolishness of her ideas. Of course, she had been right about his feelings. Rhett had loved her all along, he was just too stubborn to admit it. But for her to think she would make him confess it employing her simper and sweet tone, during one afternoon, when this was the task of a lifetime, and you had to give everything you got and still pray for divine mercy? Her attempt had been courageous, yet completely ridiculous.

_Things hadn't gone as planned. Every each one of her efforts to make Rhett go beyond his usual collected manners had utterly failed. Between their leisurely pace and the frequent trips back to the carriage to hand Melanie the flowers, where Rhett would linger for a couple of minutes to make polite conversation, she had tried everything. She'd tried to be as he had encouraged her to be: to frankly air her opinions, to be brash and spirited. He had rewarded all of her biting remarks with a small smile and, at one point, Scarlett had been afraid he would even pat her head dismissively. So, seeing the inconsistency of her initial plan, she returned to her usual ways, the simper, the dimples, the flashing smiles from under her lifted parasol. Consequently, an hour later, the muscles of her face felt sore, and her ego was even more bruised. She had failed. There was no baiting him._

_And then she decided for a final try._

"_Captain Butler, would you be so sweet as to pick some more flowers for me? One last bouquet? Silly old me, it completely escaped my mind that I do need some flowers to brighten my room. And I'm so awfully tired, I couldn't possibly manage to choose a bouquet on my own."_

_It was forward enough, but she was desperate. This had to work. The custom of reading intricate meanings in bouquets was widely spread in Atlanta, and Rhett himself had provided the town with priceless insight into the latest European opinions on the subject. He wouldn't mistake her invitation. The only problem was that one had to read books in order to get a thorough list of all the subtle messages flowers could convey, so Scarlett wasn't exactly mastering the art. She did however know the meaning of some common flowers, and it was the best plan she could come up with. She only hoped he'd pick some red roses or something fairly similar. And then she would blush demurely and ask him to tell her in words, because she couldn't trust her eyes._

_Sadly, there were no roses around, and Rhett seemed to find it extremely entertaining to handle her all the strange, nameless flowers he could find. And even when she did know what flower she had in her hand, she couldn't have attributed it a meaning to save her life. After all, how was one to decide whether elderberries meant "Your image is engraven on my heart_._" or "I consider you the most pious person my eyes have ever seen"?_

_When her bouquet was finally composed, and Rhett had expertly tied it using his handkerchief, she held it at arm's length, wandering what to say next. She had assumed she could trap him, and now she was the one trapped._

"_So?" he asked._

"_So what?"_

"_I'm anxiously waiting for your answer. I know it generally befits ladies to be the first to voice these things, but I shall boldly presume our friendship has gone far beyond that point. And now do have mercy of me and answer my request."_

_Was he mocking her? He seemed serious enough, despite his usual self-debasing grin._

"_Well, I'm not sure if I'm…. um… following the meaning of this particular arrangement. Couldn't you just tell me?"_

_She accompanied her sweet tone with a tentative smile, tilting her black parasol and raising her head, sure of the delicious contrast between the dark clothes and her white skin, bathed in sunlight._

_He raised his eyebrows in comical frustration._

"_Don't my actions speak louder than my words? Mind that I have been patiently picking flowers for the last couple of hours, and you still find the need to ask?"_

_But he came closer even as he spoke the words, and her heart increased its rhythm. This had to be it. He placed a hand on her wrist and she felt her entire arm go suddenly cold under the sizzling sun, and then unexpectedly hot. She fought the urge to draw back. If he was finally proposing, she couldn't possibly ruin it all by acting like a frightened child._

"_Scarlett, I think I've waited long enough."_

_His voice was raspy, and he was so close now she was sure he had been able to hear her swift intake of air at his words. But it didn't matter. He won't laugh at her, not now, when she clearly had the upper hand. She leaned closer to catch his next words._

"_I won't deny it. Your image with that bonnet was a reward in itself, and even flower picking has a sort of charm, especially since it serves so glorious a cause, but, all in all, I think I deserve more."_

_Her heart leaped with a rush of triumph. His words that morning meant nothing, she knew it, and she had even got him to admit it. Oh, and now the right words would come, and she would be the victor._

"_I have never, in my entire life, obtained with such difficulties, with so many heroic efforts, a dinner invitation."_

_For a second, she thought she had misheard him. And strangely, when it became obvious she hadn't, surprise wasn't followed by murderous rage, as it should have been. He had thoroughly mocked her once again, but all she felt was relief. For now he would let go of her hand and she wouldn't have to fight to control her breathing anymore. And she suddenly wondered what her answer would have been, if he had proposed. It was all so very puzzling._

"_You look fairly surprised. Were you expecting anything else?" he inquired, with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes._

_Suddenly, the humor of the entire thing hit her and she responded with a merry laugh, _"_How could I derive any other meaning from elderberries? Of course, you're invited to dinner. Well, tomorrow night, that is. And, Captain Butler, the next time you want to find out things like these don't waste precious time—take the plunge and have it over with. In my experience that's the best way."_

_He broke in rumbling laughter and offered his arm, and they were reconciled for the second time that day._

They had returned to the carriage in mirth, she was sure, for the light-hearted atmosphere pervaded the frame of that memory, bringing a smile to her lips. It didn't matter they were, even then, engaged on the path they would follow for years, where neither of them would ever be able to "take the plunge and have it over with." It didn't matter; they were so young and happy. Yes, those were the exact words to describe it, even Rhett seemed young and carefree; she hadn't noticed it back then, but he hadn't looked his years. He'd never had, before they lost Bonnie. That June afternoon, this was how it escaped the shipwreck with its brightness intact: they hadn't lost anything yet.

This realization brought back a throng of old, dead sensations, of regrets and longings that swelled into a hunger for the past. Her smile faded, as she finally grasped the odd feeling she had experienced at seeing the handkerchief. She didn't want the future, she didn't even want this present, even if Rhett was hers now; she wanted the past. The whole past. It wasn't that all the days back then had been bright or happy; it wasn't this what she was chasing. It was the chance they'd offered, the chance she had ignored at the time. Brightness and happiness had been one step away, but she had failed to take that step, and now they were irretrievably far. If only she could find the easy way out of this situation, the one word, the one move that would magically solve things. But she knew she was up against more than merely this moment. She was up against the past, against her own mistakes, against the words she'd said when telling Rhett she was carrying Bonnie, and the poisonous words from that day, on the staircase. How could she possibly win, if the past wasn't hers to change?

~~o~~

The sound of the door was a small blessing to Ella's ears. Her mother was in such a strange mood. She seemed so threatening when she first came in, and Ella had been certain she would be severely berated for leaving her shawl lying on the armchair with the wildflowers pouring out of it. But instead of that, her mother had spent the last half hour twisting that handkerchief and smiling in a peculiar way. And now, she was sad and absent-minded, like she hadn't seemed in a long time.

At the sight of her stepfather, she rose from the settee and began to talk as fast as she could, barely stopping to breathe.

"Uncle Rhett, you're back. I've told Mother everything about our picnic, and about Suzie's hat, and she wasn't mad at me."

Rhett smiled warmly down at Ella, all the while eying Scarlett, who had responded less than enthusiastically to his greeting.

"Oh, and she's also seen my flowers. She was afraid they had ruined my shawl, but I told her about your idea. How lucky that you had that handkerchief!"

"Well, Miss Ella, it shouldn't have come as a surprise," grinned her father. "A gentleman is nothing if not an endless string of handkerchiefs."

For poor Ella his words were too much. She broke into helpless laughter, as she contemplated the image of both her parents working at the circus, exchanging long lines of colorful interconnected handkerchiefs. It was a happy, pleasant sound, the sound of her laughter filling the room, the kind of sound that makes adults smile indulgently and look back at their younger days, when they too could laugh like that over nothing. But her parents weren't smiling, for rising in the room was the carefree, wild laugh of another girl, and they could both hear it.

It had happened before. Whenever Ella laughed in a certain way, said something, or even wore a certain color, the outcome was inevitable. Rhett would flinch almost imperceptibly, or briefly close his eyes, and he would avoid the girl for the next couple of days, as if seeing her was enough to bring the past alive again. For Scarlett it was the opposite. She would raise her eyes with hope, only to lower them again. She couldn't catch more than a tiny sound of the beloved laugh, more than a glimpse of the girl she so desperately wanted to see. She wanted Bonnie so much, and Ella was such a poor substitute. Maybe, maybe, she thought, the new child could laugh just like that. And then she would have it all back. And suddenly a wave of joy surged through her. She was going to be a mother again! She was going to have another child; she would love and cherish this one. It was that simple. She couldn't change the past, but she could bring it to life again. She could get another chance at mending things.

The awkward silence that had settled after Ella's fit of laughter was broken by Rhett's soft voice. "Ella, why don't you go and find Lou. She was outside a minute ago. Your mother and I need to talk."


	3. Midnight and noon

For a few long moments neither of them spoke. Though he had been the one to announce the conversation, Rhett seemed to have discarded the idea. But she waited for him to speak as one waits for the cobra to deal a deadly blow. His casual air, the attention he had paid to Ella's sketches that were scattered on the table were ominous indicators. He was waiting to catch her off balance; he was preparing to strike. He must have learned about the baby; there was no other explanation for his sudden seriousness. The time of daydreaming and dawdling on plans had passed. She had to speak up before he did.

But Rhett's voice cut through the silence before she had the chance to open her mouth, and Scarlett closed her eyes, resigning to the inevitable.

"You know, I happened to see the happy groom earlier."

Those weren't the words she had expected and she stammered, trying to find anything appropriate to say. "You saw whom?"

"One of the hundreds that have chosen this lovely time of the year to say their vows, and have insisted that we be present." He paused, raising an eyebrow at her lack of understanding. "Henry Hamilton, of course."

"Oh, and... how was he?" she managed, in what she hoped was a suitably interested tone. She had to fight against a small quaver of mixed relief and nervousness in her voice, for while her mind had registered the reprieve she had been given, her heart, still thumping painfully in her chest, had not.

"Anxious, old, in love. Denying all the aforementioned. He is quite a show to contemplate. He confided some of his plans to me."

"Did he now? That's …interesting."

"More than you'd think. He needed my advice."

"Your advice? What could you give advice on?"

"Wedlock, gambling and drinks," he declaimed with raised eyebrows. "Few men in the South could boast of more experience than I do in those fields. And, you see, reputation travels."

Her head shot up at his words. Their conversations generally avoided a lot of topics, but first and foremost on that list were marriage and children. And they didn't talk much of his drinking either. It seemed out of place for him to mention now in jest subjects that had been forbidden these last years.

_When he'd left her after Melanie's death, Scarlett had hoped that time away from Atlanta would at least serve to break him from the perpetual bleak drunkenness in which he had sunk after they lost Bonnie. But it hadn't been so. When he first returned for a visit, he had seemed changed. She had tried to analyze what it was that made him look different, but couldn't over the wild fluttering of her heart at the sight of him, at his soft-spoken questions about the children and his colder inquiries about their acquaintances. He was back, her heart sang, he was back like he'd promised. She was alternatively tongue-tied and stammering like a school girl at his questions, but it didn't matter. Everything was going to be all right._

_It was only later that night, when she'd lain in her bed, fighting bravely against a wave of disappointment that Rhett had avoided her after supper and gone out, that she realized what was so different about him. He was restored to his usual composure. Or to what she assumed was his usual composure, for she couldn't quite remember what he had looked like before she loved him. Over the months he'd been missing, her memory of him had drawn on countless different moments, all retrospectively illuminated by her love: Rhett's smile at the bazaar, full of mischief and understanding; his familiar profile in the dark; his serious face when he listened to her stories. When she wanted to punish herself, she would conjure his image after Bonnie's death—dark and unkempt and in need of a support she had not known to give. Not once during those months had she thought of this self-contained, coolly courteous Rhett and, truth be told, his appearance now faintly disheartened her. She had been eager to make it all up to him when he returned, but he didn't look like he needed either her support or her apologies. He had fought his demons on his own and he seemed to have vanquished them. _

_As she was soon to realize, that notion was misguided. For there was something that had lingered with Rhett from those months after they had lost their daughter. Drinking. He didn't drink as often as he used to, but when he did, he'd drink for hours on end, without seeming to derive any pleasure from it, always alone, always quiet, rejecting both company and assistance. Unlike the time after Bonnie's death, he never lost control of himself, no matter how much he imbibed, but that didn't make his dark moods any less disquieting for Scarlett. When he was sober, her words seemed never to touch him, reflected by the polished surface of his courtesy. When he was drunk, however, they seemed to sink into him, into the depths of his silence from which they rarely raised a reply. It was as if he silently weighed her love and her remorse, and found them lacking and unworthy of answer. She soon learned not to address him when he was drunk._

_He had stopped drinking shortly after his mother's death and their reconciliation. Scarlett knew she hadn't had any influence over him, but she was too happy and relieved to care. When Rhett was inebriated there was no reaching him. And if he was to keep entirely to his gentlemanly ways, that suited her still. Given a chance, she knew how to coax gentlemen into doing anything._

"Do be serious."

"As you wish. He wanted to ask me about your businesses."

"About my businesses? But, Rhett, he knows everything about them. He manages them."

"I have my doubts on that, but I'll withhold any comment. The man is about to marry. Now, one of the charms of getting married to a little damsel in distress is that you can reasonably expect her father to be the king and reward your heroic deed. Unfortunately for our knight, Miss Fannigan is an orphan and has not a penny to her name. And unfortunately for Miss Fannigan, by not giving our knight the mitten, she exposed herself to the danger of being widowed. Which will inexorably happen, as much as we all love your Uncle Henry and trust his stamina."

He wanted to get somewhere, she could tell. All his jocular tone was employed to a further purpose, but what that purpose was eluded her. She had been so sure it was about Dr. Meade and her pregnancy, but nothing that he had said supported that assumption. She peered at him in confusion, trying to determine if she had somehow missed the underlying thread of the conversation.

"Henry wants to ensure his wife a comfortable income after his timely pass from the realm of living. And he plans to do that by taking over your enterprises."

"Oh," was all she could manage to say.

It was unexpected, and at any other time it would have been unpleasant to hear, but things had changed so much during the last hour that she felt she could use this. If she played her cards right, she could succeed in convincing Rhett that she was granting him favors, which in turn might make him more agreeable when it came to her news. She just had to maintain a façade of defiance a little longer.

"But why come to you? Everyone knows by now that you don't run my business."

"Exactly," he grinned. "Your reputation precedes you as well, and rumors are that you're the type who shoots the messenger. Add this to the portrait of a woman who won't allow her husband to take care of her business, and it all rounds up splendidly. People, and mind you, courageous people nonetheless, are afraid to broach such themes with you."

She frowned, "And they chose you to be their ambassador?"

"In a way, yes. They figured that, if I survived your wrath thus far, I probably wouldn't get killed for bearing the news. But they were obviously wrong in assuming I could do more. My talents do have their limits. So, as much as it pained me, I spoiled Henry's illusions. I told him you wouldn't sell."

The memory of how she had sold the mills to Ashley came to her mind, but she pushed it away. Now it was not the time for it. If she thought about that for too long, she would turn down the offer just to prove to Rhett that he wasn't the most cunning ambassador the world had ever seen.

"Does he have the money?"

"Yes, surprisingly enough, he does. You wouldn't suspect it by looking at him or by counting his clients, but he managed to raise the money."

"If that is the case, then I'll sell him whatever he wants."

Under any other circumstances she would have flat down refused the offer, no matter how hard Rhett might have tried to trick her into accepting it. Life in Charleston was boring and suffocating, though she refused to admit it even to herself. The news she received about Tara and her businesses in Atlanta were the bright spots in the often dull succession of days, and she would spend hours writing long letters second-guessing Henry's and Will's every decision, undoing deals they had already sealed and badgering them for more detailed reports. Rhett had once joked that, whenever news of Scarlett leaving American soil reached the mail, wild celebration must take place in both Atlanta and Tara. It was true that so far only their travels to Europe had kept her occupied enough to neglect her enterprises, but now that she had the baby she wouldn't need them anymore. Her life would be full, for she intended to be the best mother the world had seen.

"I'm pleasantly surprised," Rhett drawled.

"I'm sure you are. When do I sign the papers?"

"This afternoon."

"I see. So you told Uncle Henry to expect me, even if you were so certain I wouldn't sell."

"Well, the fact that I'm surprised doesn't mean I didn't have faith in you. "

She hated those words more than she hated anything else. They were a sword that he'd dangle over her head during their infrequent fights in Charleston. If Rhett said, "It's all right. I just thought you'd want to do that. I must have been wrong." and he knew you better than any other person in the whole world, what were you to do? Most of the time, the answer would be swallow your pride, and show him his faith in you was justified. You had to sacrifice minor things to reach your goal, and her goal was Rhett. Nothing could stand before him. Until now.

It was the perfect time. She had him where she'd wanted. He must have had some sort of a scheme to convince her to sell, because it was fairly obvious that he pitied Henry. But since she had been more than compliant, since she had spared him any effort, she knew he must be in a good mood. She began a silent rehearsal. _"I know you didn't want any more babies, but think of all…"_ But once again, Rhett didn't allow her the opportunity to speak.

"Why waste time? Let's go and sign the papers now, shall we?"

All the words she had rehearsed vanished from her mind like fleeting bubbles of soap. She knew it was wrong, but she grasped onto this momentary chance to put off her confession. The news could wait. She'd find a better time. She nodded her assent and went to change her dress, without further comments.

~~o~~

From between the drapes a thin blade of light cut trough the darkness. Scarlett followed its cold, white path through half-closed lids to where the ray dissolved in the deep tones of the bedcovers. She could feel Rhett's chest pressed against her back. Their breaths, gasping and frantic just minutes ago, had finally stilled. This was the moment. Though she had been so weak as to miss the chance of telling him earlier, she had to do it now. And it was a good time too. She knew how the evening was going to play out. He'd hold her in his arms for a few more minutes. And she would lie still, thinking about nothing, just enjoying his warmth. After a while he would climb out of bed and return with a cigar. She'd snuggle next to him and they could talk for a sweet short interlude. And then his arms would snake around her body, holding her close, and he would drift off to sleep. But he would loosen his embrace, as he always did, and gradually drift further from her. And then she'd wake up with a start, fancying he'd left, and move closer to his outline in the dark.

_Their first nights together after the reconciliation had been awkward. She did not know what to expect, the wild thrill of the night of Ashley's birthday party or the calm pleasure of the nights back at the very beginning of their marriage. But in the end it didn't matter; either one would suit her plan. She remembered all too clearly what Rhett had said years ago about wanting her soul and not merely her body, about how it hurt him to know she was thinking about Ashley while in his arms. And she was determined to set it right this time around. He needed to know that she was his now, if he still wanted her; that his touch met her soul, not only her flesh; that she longed for him just as he had longed for her. Voicing things had been ineffective, but if she abandoned restraint, if she kept her eyes open, he couldn't possibly ignore the feelings he'd read in them. But he never looked. During their first nights, he would inevitably bury his head in her hair or her neck, but not once look her in the eye. And her gaze, designed to pierce his soul, remained to sear holes in the ceiling._

Maybe their nights were not designed for confessions of that sort, but they possessed an air of security and reliability that instilled confidence in her. She could tell him almost anything now that she was in his arms, now that she felt his breath on her shoulder blade, warm and reassuring.

She took a deep breath and then exhaled the words in a rush. "Rhett... there is something we need to talk about. I went to see Dr. Meade this morning. He told me something quite unexpected. I—I am pregnant."

She could feel his sharp intake of air, but he did not move.

"I know you didn't want any more children. And I agreed with you. Children are not—I mean, look at Ella."

No. He loved Ella. He wasn't as affectionate towards her as he was towards Wade, but Scarlett couldn't blame him. Ella was so difficult to deal with at times. It seemed like everything Scarlett ever tried to teach her slid away without leaving a mark. Regardless, she had to steer the conversation, for her treatment of Ella was already a fraught topic between them.

"This is an accident; that's true, but... We do have enough to feed and clothe another child and—"

As the words left her mouth, she froze. Those were his words the day she'd announced she was carrying Bonnie. Did he realize it as well? His arm had dropped from around her waist, but he still hadn't said anything. She tried to focus on her revelation at seeing the wild flowers earlier. She had to avoid the mistakes of the past, to undo some of the hurt if it were possible. Pretending she was indifferent about the news might help her now, but it would only hurt them both in the end. She had to tell him the truth.

"It will be so nice, so good to have another child. And I am happy about it. I…"

He wasn't saying anything, and she did not know what else he expected to hear from her. Her thoughts about undoing the past with some clever turn of phrase hadn't extended beyond this, beyond stating clearly that she wanted the child. But if it wasn't enough…

She felt the shift of the mattress and the rustle of the bedcovers as he rose from the bed, taking his robe in one swift motion. For a couple of seconds she couldn't move, frozen by fear and confusion. Her mind recognized that if he planned to leave, she had to detain him. She would pour all the words that she could gather. But to jump out of bed in this state of dishabille? It seemed ridiculous. She cursed her stupidity. If only she had told him at noon, she would have at least maintained the dignity of not running half-naked after him.

But Rhett didn't leave. She heard him in the dark entering the dressing room, and then his footfalls inside. By the time he emerged from the closet, she was seated on the edge of the bed, with her nightgown and wrapper, hands on her knees, as though she was prepared to jump at any second.

_"At least he hasn't changed his clothes,"_ she thought with relief. She didn't know what had made him reconsider, if he indeed had intended to leave, but it didn't matter now. She expected him to say something, but he seemed to hesitate for just a second, and then he walked to the other side of the room. He sat down on the sofa by the window, his dark form ominously haloed by moonlight.

Scarlett followed hesitantly. There was enough room on the sofa, but she was reluctant to sit by his side. She chose a square ottoman instead, only to realize it was also a wrong decision. Not only was she much lower than him now, but she was facing him in a duel-like fashion that she had hoped to avoid. Well, even if they reached a duel, she would at least shoot first.

She began to talk at a speed that would have put Ella to shame, "Rhett, I—You surely realize this is not my fault. You can't blame me for it. You were the one who said we were safe and that this wouldn't happen."

She stopped short, wincing. She had given this so much thought only to make two blunders at once. He hadn't blamed her yet. Why rush and accuse herself? And, more importantly, why anger Rhett by laying the blame on him, even if she was right in doing so?

"In any case, it did. And now we need to—"

"You found out this morning, didn't you?"

"What?"

He was watching her closely, she could tell, even though it was too dark for her to distinguish his expression. And she knew his question was one of those questions that seemed to matter immensely to him and that she couldn't have answered right if her life was at stake.

"When I came in at noon, you already knew. And yet you kept quiet. A remarkable event by itself, of course, but I get the feeling this was more than you practicing self-control. So why not tell me straight away? Why wait?"

This was wrong. His voice was cold and restrained, as if he was really probing for information.

"You thought I'd flee, didn't you?"

How could she have not? But she repressed this thought with indignation, raising her voice as if chastening herself even while answering his question.

"I didn't. I most certainly never—"

"Oh, but you did. The amusing thing is that you're afraid I'll leave even now if you admit you didn't trust me not to flee earlier."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Your thoughts rarely do, but I grew accustomed. You can set your mind at ease. I won't flee."

She breathed in and waited for his next words, but they never came. She was relieved in a way, and she should have been glad to let it go, but they couldn't continue to live in this limbo. She needed to know his position.

"This is it? This is all you have to say?"

"Isn't that what you've been after?"

If only one of them had thought to light a candle. If only he turned his head to the moonlight, however slightly. She wished she could see his face, she wished she had the smallest indication of what he was really thinking. This surely couldn't be all of it.

"Rhett, I…"

"You are happy about this, as you had the courtesy of explaining. And by all estimations you should be satisfied with my reaction."

"Satisfied? How can you expect me to be satisfied? You're not happy, you're not mad, you're indifferent?"

"Scarlett, I told you once that it's immaterial to me whether you have one baby or twenty. I think I'll stand by that."

She froze, hot blood suddenly thudding in her ears. No one, not even him, could stoop so low as to say something like that, as to repeat those words. It was as if, no matter what she said, she couldn't break the circle; they were reliving times that had passed and making the same mistakes. She had pledged to be better, to mend things, and yet he was still playing the old game. She hated him for it. She wanted to strike out and hit him, to make him bend with pain, to kill him if it were possible. But she fought that impulse and, clenching her fists in her robe, said with barely contained anger, "Oh, if we are walking down memory lane, I remember you also wishing me to have a miscarriage. Do you stand by that too?"

"Scarlett, you shouldn't—"

"Because it would be downright stupid of you. I won't. I don't care what happens. I'm keeping the baby, I'm not doing anything to—" She was failing at this, failing at the one thing that had kept their peace, but she couldn't stop the words from spilling out. "By God, if I have to remain in bed for the next months and for the next year afterward, I'll do it. I won't kill this baby and I won't let you kill it either."

Her tone was close to hysteria now and she knew she was going too far. Her self-control, stretched to the limit by the events of this day, by the whirlwind of fear and happiness and trepidation, had finally deserted her.

"How can you say things like these? When you loved Bonnie and when you know I wanted the child that I lost that day because of you? How can you act as if I'm telling you we're having some course for dinner? 'Yes, dear, pick whatever you like. I don't mind.'"

Her voice cracked. She bowed her head, trying to regain whatever was left of her dignity.

Rhett watched her in silence for a few seconds and then answered in a soft tone, "We both loved Bonnie, and we both wanted the child you lost. And, more importantly, now we know these things. I'm not trying to discard this as news of little importance, I'm just sheltering you from further hurt."

"Sheltering me from further hurt," she echoed incredulously.

"Scarlett—" He sighed and rubbed one face across his face. "I can't say in all honesty that I want this child, but I also can't say I want it gone. And it is out of the question for you to do anything in that regard. I don't want you dead."

"No. You just want me miserable. Death would be too little for you."

It was her last attempt, and a childish attempt at that. But, over the years, all of her loving words had left him untouched. Well, if venom could touch him, he should react now. But he didn't pick up the gauntlet.

"May I speak to you frankly?"

"I think I had enough of your frankness for a lifetime."

It was true. She didn't want to listen to him anymore. Her rage had dissipated almost as suddenly as it had erupted, leaving her with a sense of desolation and emptiness. She wanted to close her eyes, cover her ears and take refuge in a dark corner where nothing of this could reach her.

"You're right. There are lines that I—that we've crossed that should have been stopping points, but now it's not the time to discuss such things. I think we should go back to bed. You need your rest."

There was finality in his tone, barely sweetened by his last sentence. The conversation was over, and she couldn't begin to understand what had happened.

Rhett rose from the sofa, extending his arm as if to guide her to bed, only that Scarlett had been quicker. She rose from the stool swiftly enough to avoid his touch and remain two steps ahead of him as they made their way across the room.

Shedding her wrapper, she lay on her side of the bed facing him, with her arms crossed across her chest. It was all so awkward. She didn't want him to leave, but in a way it would have been easier. If they had been in Charleston he would have slept in one of the spare rooms, or gone out. But here there was no choice. She watched him in the dark with hopeful eyes. Maybe he would reach out for her, hold her in his arms and tell her that everything was going to be fine after all. But he didn't. He just remained there motionless, at arm's length, and she knew she couldn't reach him. And tonight she was tired of trying.

Rhett watched her for a long time in the dark, his eyes pensive. He smiled at her sleeping position. Men in cots in California would sleep like that, back to the wall, arms crossed, pistols at armpits. And if only Scarlett had a gun… His smile faded and he rolled over as if to touch her, but stopped midway. He sighed and got out of bed with quick, noiseless motions that spoke of years of sneaking from dark beds before dawn. Fifteen minutes later, he was out of their room.


	4. The signs

There was a war in the Butler family and all of Atlanta knew about it. During the ceremony, Henry Hamilton could have marched right outside deserting his bride for all the attendants cared. All eyes were fixed upon Scarlett and Rhett, measuring the inches that separated them, watching for any visible sign of lurking conflict. Less experienced observers might have missed it, but the good citizens of Atlanta were well trained. Scarlett was staring straight ahead, with shining eyes and tight-pressed lips. Not even once had she turned her head towards her husband. And, though it was less obvious, Captain Butler was watching her out of the corner of his eye more than he was watching the ceremony itself. When it was time for them to leave the room, he had already positioned his hand as if to rest it protectively to the small of her back. Only he was two seconds too late, because Scarlett had already started back up the aisle and she refused to adjust her pace to fit his. It was sufficient proof to all of the obvious problems between them.

No one had believed the picture of marital happiness that they had presented upon returning to Atlanta. Scarlett had never been a good wife, a fact plain for anyone with eyes to see, just as it was plain now that something had changed. The scandalous rumors were that after her daughter's death, she'd come dangerously close to becoming a divorcee. They knew it with the same unfaltering assurance they knew that, had it not been for his mother's illness and death almost three years prior, Captain Butler would never have stopped running long enough for Scarlett to have her chance at saving their marriage. And who could blame him? More accurately, who could blame him after getting to know her?

It was a surprising change to witness the different woman she had become by the time she descended the train in 1878. But ironically, the changes in Scarlett, the way that she was now acting the part of the good wife managed to insult even more people than her old mannerisms. One minute she was making polite conversation with an acquaintance and the next, Captain Butler would walk through the door and they would know without the shadow of a doubt that they had ceased to exist to her, that the dirt on the soles of his shoes was worth more to her than anything anyone else could have said. It was all so blatant that many wondered if it wasn't just an act designed to mock them.

And their confirmation had come the morning before the wedding. With all of the hustle, Jane had been forgotten in Pitty's library, and a less intuitive person—though Pitty herself denied all interference—had sent Scarlett there to get her out of the way. No one realized the potential threat such a situation presented until Mrs. Merriwether inquired about the bride only to exclaim incredulously, "You left her alone with Scarlett of all women? Dear God!" She nearly ran into the library to find a pale, almost crying Jane and Scarlett finishing her tirade, "So any girl with an ounce of sense is better left unmarried.". And as Scarlett marched out of the room with her head high, Mrs. Merriwether had the answer the entire town had been searching for. The Butler marriage was indeed on the rocks.

~~o~~

"Dr. Meade, may I have a word with you in private?"

The doctor raised his eyes from his glass to see Captain Butler's large frame. He wasn't pleased, but he tried his best to hide it as they made their way to a more secluded corner. He didn't like the man, had never really liked the man. Butler was too arrogant and had gotten away with much that showed that he was nothing of a gentleman.

All of his life, Dr. Meade had believed people and not actions to be moral. Good deeds came only from gentlemen and people of good quality, just as bad deeds came from scoundrels. And it was rare indeed to find the deeds and reputations opposing each other. But some years ago Dr. Meade had seen a scoundrel become a gentleman. He had believed in Rhett Butler's redemption and accepted him as a man of honor. What he couldn't accept was the transition that took place after Bonnie's death, when Rhett had returned to his usual ways. In short, he began having the nasty suspicion that both he and his fellow citizens had been played fools, a serious blow to his ego and one that made him dislike the thought of the present conversation.

"I wouldn't have asked for this meeting. It's slightly inappropriate to discuss such things at a wedding breakfast. But I'm afraid we are leaving for Charleston this evening, and I needed to ask you some things."

"Yes, of course."

"You examined Scarlett yesterday, and you were her doctor at the time of her accident all those years ago, when she fell down the stairs. You know her and her history." He watched the doctor's face, trying to read any information that the old man might refuse to give him. "I trust your opinion more than that of our family doctor in Charleston. My concerns are related to the fall and, in light of it, to the danger that this condition could pose to her."

The doctor listened to the speech, wondering briefly whether Captain Butler had heard of the events that had unfolded in Pitty's library that very morning. He doubted it and in a way he felt sorry for this man. For as long as he had known him, Butler had cared for Scarlett, first as a belle and then as his wife—a wife who clearly resented his attention to the point that she voiced her unhappiness to other people, breaking the unwritten code of silence that still ruled the South.

"Well, as you undoubtedly understand, I do not have all of the details of Scarlett's current medical condition, or any events or illnesses that might be relevant. It makes it difficult if not impossible for me to asses the level of danger in the present situation. She told me she hasn't had any problems these last years, and, if that is the case, I don't think there is anything to worry about. Of course, there remains the possibility of her overestimating her health. I do need to ask you. Has she been well since you left Atlanta? I have no information from that time period and without it I don't feel comfortable offering you assurances that I cannot back with my word."

"Yes, I believe she has. At least nothing of major concern. Scarlett has always had a will of iron, and the health to match."

Dr. Meade tugged at his goatee, pondering an answer. There was one more thing at play here, but it was a delicate matter, one he would have avoided even under normal circumstances. The length of time between Scarlett's pregnancies was unusually long. With any other patient he would have attributed this to the miscarriage, but in this case he had to refrain from judgment. He knew the Butlers hadn't been sharing a bed before leaving Atlanta and the span of time between Bonnie and the child Scarlett miscarried was telling of that. He decided there was no delicate way of addressing the issue. Scarlett seemed healthy enough, and besides, Captain Butler had said they would seek the opinion of their doctor in Charleston as well. No harm could come from him issuing only a mild warning instead of explaining the complexities in greater depth. He had no desire to do so, nor did the Butlers have the time.

"The only thing I can advise is that you make sure that she rests and takes things slowly. She was once known to continuously overexert herself, and she gave me the impression she still goes to great lengths for the things she cares deeply about."

"Yes, she does indeed. Too much for her own good, I'm afraid," said Captain Butler watching his wife's frame in the distance. The doctor peered at him with poorly disguised interest, trying to deduce from his expression the meaning his pensive tone refused to reveal in its entirety. But the moment he thought he was about to understand it, Rhett turned to him, and his eyes held such a sardonic light that the old man felt as if he had been exposed while peeping through a keyhole.

"Thank you. Your advice was invaluable. I will most certainly follow it to the letter."

The atmosphere between them had obviously changed: Rhett was using his old ambivalent tone, all respect seemingly vanished from his demeanor. And as the younger man made his way to the other guests, Dr. Meade couldn't help but feel that he had been mocked yet again.

~~o~~

Something had changed. After their return to Charleston, things were different in a way that could not be ignored even by the children and servants, though they failed to understand the meaning. There was only one thing that they clearly understood: they were to stay out of Scarlett's way. And Scarlett couldn't have been more grateful for the respite. She had more serious problems to tend to.

She and Rhett were not talking, outside the small, neutral exchanges in their daily routine. In actual fact, she wasn't talking to him. He seemed to only abide by her wish and return the favor. Her silence was glaring, making it more difficult for Rhett to talk to her without giving the impression he was daring her. Regardless, he had been the one to maintain the peace, now that peace was the last thing Scarlett wanted.

Since the morning after their talk, her life had been driven by two forces: the constant preoccupation with the child and fury towards Rhett. She loved him and she didn't know how to make him love her and the child and, if before she would have been mad at herself for not finding a way, now she was mad at Rhett for denying her a way. All of her loving thoughts turned to rage at seeing him and remembering his twisted words that night. Still, she didn't want to be the one to initiate the fight. She wanted to bait him into open war.

She had been feeling increasingly queasy since their return and the worsening of her morning sickness was immediately followed by the withdrawal from their menu of any courses she disliked and the silent presence in her room of ginger hard candy. She knew it was Rhett behind this. He knew that hard candy was the only thing that had alleviated her nausea while pregnant with Bonnie. So he remembered, he cared enough for her to do something like this. But as touching as his gesture was, her gratitude only went that far. He was wrong if he had assumed she could be swayed with candy.

She wanted an admission from him, be it that he wanted the child or that he hated the mere thought of it, though, truth be told, she had been more than relieved to find proof for the former. No matter how many times she kept telling herself she could face the reality of his feelings, the idea that he had not lied when he claimed that his love for her had died was still a frightening one. But when his gestures seemed to indicate that he did indeed care, she couldn't even thank him. After all, if war is what you're playing, you don't call truce when your enemy loses ground. You go after him with everything you have until the final victory.

And while military terms might have been too much to describe her actions, she did engage in relentless attack. It didn't matter that it was Rhett who kept the entire house quiet so she could sleep late in the mornings or found all sort of activities for late evenings, because she had trouble falling asleep. It didn't matter; she would strike out at him as hard and often as it was possible for it to still look as an accident, or rob him of the covers at every opportunity.

It was childish and she knew it, but she didn't know what else to do if she wasn't to resort to blows. This kind of silent war was more on Rhett's avenue, and even now he seemed to be the victor. If any of her dirty tricks had elicited any answer from him, if he had tried to tug at the bed covers or let out any groan of pain the night she slammed the dressing room door over his foot, she would have run into his arms and apologized, because it hurt her to see him suffering. But he didn't; he acted as if nothing touched him, as if he didn't even notice. Worse yet, she had the disquieting feeling that if she'd turned, she'd find him laughing at her. And that drove her to frustration, it made her want to hit him harder, to make him suffer. She would make him suffer until he acknowledged her, until he admitted that she had the power to hurt him.

She kept telling herself that Rhett was reaping what he had sown and she even tried to remember some of the things he had done to her over the years, trying to see if she could somehow use his tactics. But whereas Rhett's pranks had always had an undertone of humor, even in their cruelest form, her own actions were always serious and physical, prone to turn into sheer violence any second. And that was what made his attitude even more infuriating. He had the insolent, defiant air of one who strolled leisurely on the tracks daring an oncoming train to stop him.

In the beginning, she had thought she had one more ace up her sleeve. She had decided to deny him access to her body, and the mere idea made her feel giddy. Yes, he would reach for her and she would turn him down. It was all the little power she had over him and she was bent on using it. Except that she never had a chance to do it, because he didn't make any move to touch her; he continued to sleep on his side of the bed just as he had done that night in Atlanta.

She had been angry and disappointed. But then a chilling realization dawned on her and her initial feelings turned to dread. Rhett wasn't the kind to deny himself pleasures. He hadn't shied in having her when she was pregnant with Bonnie, like Frank had when she was carrying Ella. And since their fight was only a battle fought with silence, he would have under normal conditions used the opportunity to challenge her once again. So if the coldness between them couldn't account for his indifference and if he hadn't found pregnancy an impediment before, that could only mean one thing. This pregnancy was different and he had realized it too, though he hadn't said it out loud. He was afraid to hurt the baby.

The thought that Rhett perceived some danger for the baby terrified her. It was her constant fear. If during the day she could barely keep her eyes open, every night she battled with insomnia. She would lie awake staring at the ceiling and worrying. At first, the scenarios forming in her mind were many and varying, ranging from Rhett leaving her and the baby, to the baby growing to be a perfect child and then dying in an accident. But as the nights passed all her fears converged into one: miscarriage.

She couldn't help but think that something bad would happen to the baby, that God would somehow rob her of this child just as it had happened with Bonnie, just as it had happened with the baby she'd lost. And it wasn't even necessary for an accident to happen, for her to trip and fall. She had heard of so many women that had simply miscarried; she herself had thought while pregnant with Ella that something like that might happen and she would be able to resume her work. But she had been healthy back then; there hadn't been any accident yet.

She had never been overly concerned with her health. True, she had experienced problems in the last years, after the fall, but nothing that seemed too serious or lasted very long. Nothing that her little green bottle had not cured. But now the list of all the problems she'd had seemed to rise before her eyes again, and she would spend hours trying to guess whether one of them could be dangerous to her now. And since that didn't prove to be of any use, she began observing with painful concentration all of the signs that might indicate a problem.

It was like walking into a dark labyrinth where at every corner there could lurk a trap. She couldn't rely on her previous experiences, try as she might to bring those times back to her memory. Had she always been this tired? Had her breasts always felt this strange? She had always tried to dismiss what she felt while carrying her other children. Pregnancy was bad enough without constantly fretting about it. It had been an annoying burden and she had prided herself on not being one of those women who could tell you the exact hour their feet had started to swell during their second pregnancy.

She tried to remember all the advice she had received when pregnant with Wade, what she was supposed to do and what she was to avoid. Why hadn't she paid attention? The answer to that question made her feel utterly alone. She hadn't needed to pay attention, because there had always been other people to care for her during her previous pregnancies, Ellen, Mammy, Melly, Pitty, Rhett.

Rhett. The temptation of waking him up had been great during all these nights. He would know what to say, those silly endearments of his and some clever phrase and he would dissipate her fears. But then his words were alive, lying between them like a sword on the bed: _"Maybe you'll have a miscarriage."_ and she couldn't reach for him, no matter how badly she needed him.

Her fears finally culminated nearly four weeks after their return. She was lying on her back, waiting for sleep to claim her. She felt oddly calm, despite the small feeling of emptiness in her stomach. Her mind wandered lazily among all the things that had happened in the last weeks, but without stopping at any in particular, just gliding over the surface. And then, out of all the thoughts, happy or dark, there seemed to rise one that she couldn't discern, that refused to reveal itself. She tried to focus on it, to grasp it, but the harder she tried, the more frightening the outline of that thing was.

And then she began to feel something, a strange sensation that could not be ignored. Her blanket was growing increasingly heavy. It was no longer a blanket. It was a living thing, crushing her under its weight. She tried to calm herself as her chest tightened in fear. It was nothing. One could always lift their arms and remove the blanket. Except that she couldn't. She couldn't move her arms, because of the weight that pinned her down, the weight that wouldn't crush her, but that prevented any movement. She was sweating now under the unbearable heat and her nightgown clung to her body, sending more waves of panic through her.

She tried to say something, anything, to alert Rhett. She was terrified and ready to break the silent war. She needed help or death would claim her, she was sure. She needed him before it was too late. But her throat was dry as wood, and all the sounds perished before reaching her mouth. And the heat increased around her, stealing her breath. It was like she was being pulled into a dark sack, someone was pulling her towards the dark, towards the scorching heat. She was cornered and wrapped from all sides, and she needed the strength to fight. She didn't have much time. Soon, soon the sack would be tied, and then she would be dead and the baby would be dead too. Maybe they'd find her, Rhett would wake up and save her, but it would be too late for the baby. Babies weren't strong. Mothers could survive anything. A mother could fall down an entire flight of stairs and still live, but babies couldn't live through that. And this baby would die no matter how hard she tried to stop it. It would die now in this unendurable heat, in this oven. There was no one to save it.

And then, just as the pain in her chest became excruciating, just as she began to choke, it all ended. The heat was suddenly gone. Feeling and movement returned, and she could throw her blanket aside. She placed her shaky hands on her abdomen, knowing that the worst had passed. Her chest still hurt, but her breathing was slowly returning to normal. She had survived and the baby seemed fine. She turned her eyes on Rhett, who was still fast asleep. Why hadn't he awakened? Why hadn't he sensed something was wrong with her? She had survived this alone, but what if next time she wouldn't be that lucky? She counted silently to ten, giving him time to wake up and console her. It was silly, she knew it, but she kept hoping he would open his eyes before the countdown was over. He didn't and she just rolled to her side with a sigh, not even bothering to hit him with her elbow in the process, as it had become her custom.

It was the night before their war would come to its end.


	5. Wade

"Where do you think you're going?"

The young man stopped short just before reaching the door. He closed his eyes for a brief second and then turned on his heels to face his mother, a complaisant smile plastered on his face.

"Nowhere. I am here. Is there anything else you want me to do?"

Scarlett motioned for him to return to the tattered ledger on the table, with a small wave of her hand. "Well, for one thing stop assuming you've already accomplished something. I haven't seen such poor calculations in my entire life."

Wade pondered for a minute on the cruel fate that allowed a young man to spend an entire morning with his mother going over the figures for a plantation in Georgia. There were other things he cared deeply about. Horses, other men's opinion of him, the smile of a sweet little blonde lady, and books, though the order was prone to change depending on the moment you asked the question. Right now, this was the correct order though, for he had been expecting a new horse to be delivered to their stables the entire morning. He wanted nothing more than to be there when the stallion arrived. But he had to stay here, because his stepfather had made him promise. He seemed to believe Scarlett was not feeling well.

No person who could add that long a row of figures in their head was feeling unwell, Wade thought grimly. And then his mother was never ill anyway. He wished now that he hadn't promised, but his stepfather had slyly mentioned the English saddle Wade had been dreaming of for months. He sighed and returned to the depressing papers, knowing that his mother was watching him from the sofa with hawk-like eyes.

There were many things Scarlett did not understand about Wade. Among those, there were some she could let pass. To the young man's present misfortune, indifference towards Tara and lack of mathematical skills were not on that list. She would have gladly taken care of the accounts herself, she knew she would probably have to fix everything later, but the boy needed to learn.

And besides, she couldn't let Wade go, no matter how much it irritated her to see him struggling with basic arithmetic. She needed someone in the room with her, for fear the events of last night might reoccur and he was the only one available, since Rhett had taken Ella to visit Rosemary. She'd seen less and less of Ella these last weeks. Rhett seemed to have an endless supply of people and places Ella needed to see. If not Rosemary's younger children, then his brother's daughter, or the park or some lecture for young girls. And if none of the above mentioned were at hand, he would just take her with him on business meetings like he had once done with Bonnie.

She paged idly through the last year's accounts, waiting for Wade to finish. He was staring out the window again. Dear God, why did she have to have such useless children? She was preparing to scold him, but her voice caught in her throat.

There was something wrong. The disquieting feeling she'd had all day had finally materialized, though not in the way she had expected.

There were no invisible bonds preventing her movements this time, no unbearable weight pressing on her lungs. Of course there weren't, she smiled bitterly. Wasn't that what they all said, that the lightning never strikes twice in the same place? There wouldn't be any of the things she had steeled herself against. No scorching heat, no stifling darkness. Just pains in her lower abdomen.

She fought her first impulse, which would have been to cry for help, and took a deep breath. She had to maintain her calm. This wasn't a piercing pain. It was just a cramping sensation. She knew cramps; she had experienced them before. She'd had them when carrying her previous children. There was no reason for concern.

But what her mind knew, her body didn't. Her heart was already beating faster. With sweaty palms, she snapped the ledger shut and clutched it to her chest. It brought her a measure of comfort to feel the hard surface against her ribcage. She just needed to breathe and relax. She would wait for the pains to pass. They had to. Had it been like this before? She couldn't remember, she couldn't think straight. If they were worse than before, then that meant… No, it didn't mean anything.

She was sure that if she managed to overcome the fear, everything would be all right. All she had to do was stay still and breathe.

"Mother, I can't follow this. I think the numbers are wrong."

When he received no answer, Wade turned in his chair. He was met by a frightening sight. He had never seen his mother like this. She was so pale as she stared at him with haunted eyes. She looked as if something was terribly wrong. She looked as if she had seen death. He froze for a second and then rose hastily from the chair.

"Mother, is everything all right?"

His voice reached her as if from another world. Did he not know how hard this was for her? Did he not know she couldn't open her mouth now because she needed that energy, she needed all the energy she had to fight against this?

"What's wrong? Talk to me. Say something, please. I don't know what to do. What do you want me to do?"

She still didn't answer, but she loosened her grip on the ledger and Wade perceived that as a good sign.

"Say something. I'll get Prissy for you, do you want Prissy?"

Wade raked his hand through his hair and then stood up abruptly. "I'm calling the doctor."

She tried to focus. The cramps were gradually fading. Her mind told her that seeing the doctor was a good decision. But more powerful than sense rose the irrational fear. As long as the doctor didn't say something was wrong, then everything was fine.

She tried to stop him from leaving the room by finally whispering, "No, Wade. I don't need the doctor. I don't want the doctor."

But it was too late.

~~o~~

Specks of dust dancing languidly in the luminous air. _Ashley's voice that day, when she was 6 years old... "Silly girl, no one could possibly float like that, not even you. Specks of dust have almost no weight, that's why they never fall to the ground. You'd have to be lighter than air to do the same." "Do you mean to say I'm plump? Ashley Wilkes, take it back this instant or I'll never talk to you again!"_

The light wind stirring among the trees outside. _"No, no, you're light as a feather. But floating just wouldn't suit you. You should fly like a fairy, fluttering your wings and shedding sparks of light all over the… Scarlett, come down from that tree! I wasn't serious!"_

_She had hit the ground with a thump. The pain, the frightening pain. She couldn't breathe_. Heavy fragrances in the air, permeating everything with sweet, repulsive notes. There were white tulips in a vase on the table, she remembered. But tulips had no scent. It must be coming from the flowers in the garden. She closed her eyes tiredly. Why couldn't people follow her directions? She had told Prissy to close that window three times before she left.

As she slowly regained her senses, she knew the doctor must have given her something to calm her down. Most probably he had slipped it in her tea. She remembered vaguely, as in a haze, the last hours. The commotion after the doctor's departure, Prissy and Wade asking all those stupid questions before she had ordered them out of the parlor. She had refused to go to her bedroom. She didn't need sleep; she needed time alone with her thoughts. She was sure now that there had been something in her drink, for she had succumbed to an inexplicable torpor on the sofa while musing over the doctor's words.

By the time he had arrived, her pains had almost ceased. She had actually regained enough of her strength to try to convince Wade to cancel the doctor's appointment. To her dismay, Wade stood his ground. Under different circumstances, it would have been a comic sight to contemplate—Wade's efforts to impose his will over his mother. His face, that had inherited the shy, gentle features of his father, was now marked by an expression of dark authority, clearly trying to resemble that of his stepfather. Of course, he was blissfully unaware of the fact that neither of those men had ever managed to impose their will on his mother. And even more unaware of how seeing one of Rhett Butler's grimaces on Charlie Hamilton's son's face irritated Scarlett.

The doctor seemed to agree with Scarlett. He said she was fine. He said there was nothing to worry, that her pains were normal at this time of the pregnancy. Most women experienced this sort of pains in the first months, and there was no reason for concern, if no other symptoms were present. She herself had admitted to experiencing similar sensations when carrying the other children. The only harm that could come to her now was from overwrought nerves.

Ironically, this clean bill of health was met not only by Wade's vocal disagreement, but by Scarlett's reluctance as well. Once she had been declared healthy, she seemed to have decided she was indeed ill. She tried to present her case in more vivid details, recounting her strange fit the previous night. A person who can't move or breathe, a person who has pains during their pregnancy is most certainly not fine. And when her attempts to convince the doctor of this failed, she began to doubt his medical expertise.

He could be wrong. He did not know her case well enough. She had asked Dr. Meade to give him a detailed report of her medical history, but what if he had missed something? And besides, she had seen that look in men's eyes too often not to recognize it. The doctor was charmed by her beauty. And he was one to comfort beautiful women, she could tell.

"_Of course I trust your advice, sir. You are the best doctor we have in South Carolina, how could I not?" she simpered. "But even if my worries are unjustified at this time, and I am sure now that they must be, I am afraid of what will come next. I wish there was something I could do to make sure the child will be all right."_

"_Well, Mrs. Butler, we can't do much outside taking all due precautions. This is a delicate period for both the mother and the child. Things happen that can't be prevented. As I always tell my patients, in the first months it's all in God's hands. But don't lose faith. I'm sure He will listen to your prayers and give you a healthy child."_

She was tired of praying. She had prayed and promised God things her entire life, but He never kept His end of the bargain. Yes, God hadn't proved to be the most reliable business partner. She cringed at the blasphemous thought. It was wrong; it was a sin. That was what came after spending too much time around Rhett—one began to talk like him, think like him. But she wasn't like that. She was a sinner in God's eyes, true. She had sinned in what she'd done and what she'd failed to do, but she was ready to repent. She was to blame for all her problems now, she was to blame more than Rhett was. But she would go to the church tomorrow and she would confess all her faults, and she would ask for God's forgiveness and Virgin Mary's aid and protection.

But before asking for divine intervention, there was one thing she could do on her own. Change her doctor. She didn't trust his advice, no matter what she had claimed. Still, there was a measure of truth in her words. He was the best doctor in South Carolina. In actual fact, she was sure she couldn't find a better one in the South. Maybe they could find one up North, though the prospect of living there for the next months wasn't a pleasant one. They had visited a couple of Northern cities during the last years, and she hadn't found them as repulsive as she thought she would. But to move out there?

And then a memory came to her mind. A bearded face with blue, laughing eyes. The face of Dr. Hallett, her doctor in London. Why hadn't she thought of him in the first place? He'd know what to do. He had been able to solve her problems before, when the first doctor had had the nerve to claim she suffered from hysteria. He had solved her problems and he hadn't told Rhett about it either, even though he and Rhett were friends. She could trust him. That was the kind of doctor she needed, one that would cure you, not tell you to pray for God's help. She would be more confident once she saw him and made sure everything was fine.

Of course, she would have to find a way to tell Rhett that they needed to go to England. The fact that they hadn't been talking in weeks didn't cross her mind for a second. She had to find some excuse to offer, for telling the truth was not an option. He did not know she had seen a doctor while in London, much less that she'd seen Hallett, and she had no desire to tell him. And as she began rehearsing embellished stories that could fit her purpose, her eyes were shining with familiar satisfaction. The satisfaction of planning a new campaign.

~~o~~

Rhett disposed of his coat and hat and advanced in the dark hallway towards the staircase. Sitting on the bottom stair, with his hands on his knees, was Wade, clearly impatient to hear the news.

"What did he say?"

"The exact same things he told you and Scarlett. In fact, he wasn't exactly pleased to see me, since I am the third person today to question his medical judgment. He asked me whether mistrust is a family disease. "

Seeing that he hadn't elicited the barest of smiles from Wade, Rhett asked, "Is your mother all right? Is she awake now?"

Wade shook his head. "No, I just checked on her ten minutes ago."

After saying the words, he remained silent, staring at his hands.

"Then what's eating you, young man?" Rhett seated himself on the bottom stair next to the boy. He had assumed the warm jesting tone he normally used in his talks with Wade.

"I know Mother is fine now, but it was so close and I—it was my fault."

"Wade, none of this was your fault. It was a very unfortunate event and you did the right thing. I am proud of you. You were there when your mother needed you the most; you made the right decision in calling the doctor. Even more, you held on to your decision when Scarlett tried to have her way. I'd say that alone qualifies as a baptism by fire."

But his gentle humor seemed to miss its target. Wade had moved further away towards the banister, his shoulders slumping.

"I wanted to leave her alone," he said in a weak voice.

"What?"

"I tried to sneak out. Before she started to feel sick. I wouldn't have been there if she hadn't stopped me."

"I see." All the mocking gentleness of before was gone from Rhett's voice. If his brother or sister were present, they would have recognized in his tone the cold, steely inflections of their father's voice and pitied Wade for what was to follow. "You decided to leave her alone when that was the one thing I specifically asked you not to do."

Wade nodded in shame.

"It is indeed a letdown," Rhett continued, in that dispassionate tone designed to make any young man feel about two inches tall. "I thought you could be trusted. We had an agreement. You gave me your word you'd stay with Scarlett today."

"I know," his stepson answered feebly.

"I understand if you fail to see there is something wrong with your mother; it takes years of practice to notice things like that. I understand if you get tired of watching over her. But to go back on your word, that is something I don't understand."

"I know. I'm the worst cad. I don't deserve anything. I could have cost Mother her life with my selfishness. I just wanted to be there when the new horse arrived—I can't believe I thought a horse could be more important than— " His voice cracked. He blinked several times, trying in vain to stop his tears.

Silence settled for a while, as both men tried to ignore Wade's display of emotion.

Finally, when the boy's silent tears threatened to become audible sobs, Rhett patted his shoulder lightly. "Shh, boy, not the end of the world. Everyone has their share of foolish things."

"It wasn't foolish, it was atrocious." Rhett suppressed a smile at his stepson's choice of words, but didn't interrupt him.

"What if I managed to slip out and then she would have been sick and there would have been no one to help her? She could have died."

"Now, don't take this too far. You didn't leave. And even if you had, there's no telling that the worst would have happened. It takes more than one man's stupidity to kill your mother."

"I didn't act like a man today. No man would have—"

"Before launching yourself into an endless recitation of things men don't do, answer me this. Why are you here now?"

Wade raised questioning eyes. "Where?"

"Here on the stairs, outside your mother's door."

"I don't know. Where else should I be? I'm just waiting for her to wake up. To make sure she is all right."

"And when she does wake up, when you'll know she's all right, what will you do?"

He pondered on the answer, failing to see its significance. "Well, what can I do? I don't know. Tell her I'm sorry. Apologize. I couldn't talk to her before because she was very upset and she ordered me out."

"So you are here because you know you were at fault and you want to apologize?"

"Yes, I suppose."

"Then you are better than at least one man I know."

For a moment, Wade looked as if he was going to ask something, but the words never came. There were things half-understood, half-forgotten lurking beneath that sentence, but Wade decided to pass on the opportunity of delving into them, and Rhett soon changed the subject.

"You still have things to learn, but you'll grow. Only remember that when you are a child, it's all right to think and act as one. When you become a man, you must put away childish things."

His tone was mockingly serious again, and Wade cast him a teary smile. "Sir, are you quoting the Bible on this?"

He winked merrily. "I had no doubts you'd catch on to that. Wait till I tell Scarlett we've yet to make a heathen out of you. Now, did you get the chance to see that horse?"

Wade shook his head.

"Then go for it. It is a sight indeed. And don't worry about this. You'll learn."

"But Mother…?"

"I'll send for you when she wakes up so you can declaim your apology. But bear in mind, Scarlett will make good use of your remorse. You'll probably be assigned to Tara's ledgers for the next twenty years. So, if I were you, I would take advantage of the little time left before she wakes up."

Wade got up from the stairs and started towards the door, only to stop as if remembering something.

"Sir, one more thing. How do you know when Mother's not well?" he asked, staring down at his shoes.

Rhett smiled, knowing Wade wasn't thinking about his mother anymore.

"Well, promise never to tell anyone, especially not your mother, but I don't always know."

"But then how…"

"This morning, when she had to descend the stairs, she stopped and waited for me to be two steps ahead of her. And then she followed my exact footsteps with a hand on the banister. She never does that. So I knew she wasn't feeling well. She was afraid of fainting."

"Oh," Wade couldn't hide his disappointment.

"But, unless you plan to spend the next decade diligently observing her every habit, I doubt you can use this strategy on Miss Aldridge." Wade blushed to the roots of his hair at the mention of the name. "I can't help you with that. You will have to figure out your own method of recognizing a damsel in distress. Now, go and see the horse. I have to check on your mother."


	6. The interlude

While it would have been wrong to claim Scarlett had gone through life without learning anything, there were a few important lessons that had definitely eluded her and, among those, one in particular that could have made her present endeavor a lot easier. The practical value of honesty.

And so, since telling the simple truth had been dismissed as an option, she sat in her wrinkled house dress trying her best to come up with a plausible reason that would request their immediate presence in London. But her will and intellectual abilities had never been a perfect match to each other, so England and Dr. Hallett were still the two topics around which her musings gravitated futilely when Rhett's voice startled her out of her reverie.

"Are you all right?"

She looked up to see him leaning in the door frame with an expectant look in his eyes. And it was then that she remembered the strained silence they had been living in for weeks. It was gone now; the fury that had driven her seemed to have vanished without exhausting itself, simply swallowed by the doubts and fears of the last hours. And she realized with little if any wonder, that the man standing there was no longer the enemy that she had fought relentlessly for the last month, that her power and will of continuing the battle were lost.

But the change had yet to reach her demeanor, because somehow it was harder to let go of the mask than of the feeling behind it. If she was no longer raging against Rhett, then she had returned to the old state of limbo, to not knowing what to say or do around him. So she answered his question in a detached tone, shrugging lightly.

"Yes, I suppose I am. Why shouldn't I be?"

"Wade told me they had to call the doctor earlier."

His words could have been those of a husband returning home at the end of the day, but his cautious tone told a different story. This wasn't a normal domestic conversation between two people that, after nearly a decade of being married to each other, could dispense of formalities and useless words. They were more like two actors at the first rehearsal for a new play, tentatively uttering their lines, still waiting for the director's indications. The right position on stage, the right facial expression, the exact intonation and the scene would come alive. Except that neither of them would willingly accept the idea that someone else, and especially the other, could run the show.

"It was nothing. Just a scare. The doctor said everything was fine," she said, her voice more assured than her mind was.

Rhett left the door frame and advanced towards the sofa. "I know. I talked to him."

"You did? When?"

"After I heard Wade's story. He told me the doctor had declared you healthy but I thought it wouldn't hurt to go see him. Sometimes doctors tend to hide the truth from women and children and wait for the husband to return."

Even though the new plan had occupied Scarlett's mind for the past hour, uneasiness still lingered with her, waiting to turn into primitive fear at the slightest cue. But his words were more than just a slight cue. They were like the deathly blow of a real dagger when one expects the harmless stroke of a stage weapon, and all her anxieties were suddenly alive again.

Rhett saw her losing color and took the moment to seat himself next to her on the sofa and take her hands in his. "He said everything was fine, really. There is no need to worry."

But his words didn't have the soothing effect he had probably counted on. All pretense abandoned, she gripped his hands with unnatural strength, leaning forward as if to accentuate her words.

"This is not the time for games. Don't lie to me please. I can't take it from you, not now. I need the truth."

"I'm not lying. The doctor said you are in good condition, only that you worry far too much. And seeing now how right he was in his second assessment, I'm inclined to trust him with the first."

She was about to explain everything to him, to tell him the exact story she had told the doctor earlier, to try to convince him things were not right, but something stopped her. To do that would only mean one thing—to give in to the temptation of passing her burdens on Rhett's shoulders. And if there was anything that life had indeed taught her, that was to think twice before doing that. Rhett was more than capable of tossing both her and her burdens away when she least expected it, and, besides, she did not want to appear weak before him now that the terms of the truce were about to be laid out. So she swallowed hard, pushing back the words that were about to escape her lips.

"When did you have time to talk to him?"

"I came home about an hour ago and you were asleep on the sofa. I thought about transporting you back to our room, but Wade stopped me from doing so. He said he had already tried to convince you to go upstairs but that you took it badly." He grinned at her, and renewed his grip on her hands, just as she was beginning to withdraw them from his grasp. "And now I quote: 'Mind your own business. I am not a child, nor a drunkard that people need to put to bed. I'm a grown woman and I can do as I please.' Of course, the effect of this speech wouldn't be complete if we omitted the fact that its author was soundly asleep in the parlor ten minutes after those admirable feelings were uttered."

"Well, for your information, I did not fall asleep here because I was tired. It was because that doctor gave Prissy something to slip in my tea."

Rhett shook his head, his grin widening. "No, he did not. And I would be more than surprised if your statement were true and you weren't the least bit tired, given the fact you haven't been sleeping two hours in a row these last weeks."

Caught off guard, she couldn't help the question that came to her lips. "How do you know?"

"You learn all sorts of interesting things when sharing a bed with someone. Though apparently not enough of them. You know, I had a clear picture in my mind of you trying to convince people that you are not some child or drunkard. But it all seemed to make more sense after the good doctor told me about what happened last night."

She turned her eyes away. This was a topic she had hoped to avoid.

"Now, the thing is that I'm not too keen on having another man telling me what happened in my own bed at night," he continued in the same vein. "So a first hand rendition of the events would be more than welcomed."

But his joking tone didn't reach Scarlett. She was once again trying to pull her hands away and it was clear by the troubled expression in her eyes that the memory playing in her mind wasn't a pleasant one.

"Was it that bad, that you were afraid to go to bed today?"

Moved by his unexpectedly gentle voice, Scarlett nodded reluctantly. It was so strange that Rhett would guess something like that, when she herself hadn't thought of it. But now that he had voiced the idea, she realized that yes, the fear of being alone in that bedroom after what had happened was at the back of her mind, even while she was trying to convince Wade that she didn't feel like sleeping.

"It was frightening. I don't know what happened. It was so hot and my blanket felt so heavy and I couldn't move. I tried to push it away, but it was as if my arms were dead; I couldn't move them. And my chest hurt and I couldn't breathe. Rhett, I thought I would die."

She was in his arms now and she didn't know when that had happened.

"The doctor said I just got the vapors or something, but it was so real. I was so sure I would die, that no one would find me before it was too late and—" It was wrong. She couldn't be so weak as to tell him all these things and let him comfort her. Her ideas of a truce were hazy, but she was sure of one thing: he had to be the one to make the first step and she would meet him halfway. But try as she might, she couldn't stop this. Her eyes were stinging and she knew she'd cry in a few moments. And then it would come, the inevitable surrender, complete with crying on her enemy's shoulder.

"You should have woken me up. I could have helped you," came Rhett's answer and suddenly the spell was broken.

Tears could wait. She pulled away slightly and tried to read the expression on his face before answering.

"I couldn't wake you up. I was choking."

"But you didn't wake me up afterward either."

"Are you somehow trying to insinuate this was my fault?" She tried to break away from his embrace. She had been so close to making the mistake of lowering her defenses that it frightened her. But he didn't loosen his grasp on her, forcing her to remain still.

"No, but I get the impression that the obvious answer that it was nobody's fault it's not to your liking either. And since I was the only other person in the room, I gather it was my fault."

"I didn't say it was your fault."

"You didn't say it, that doesn't mean you didn't think of it. But now, what would my fault be in the entire situation? You can't reasonably blame me for sleeping."

"I didn't blame you for anything," she said through clenched teeth, trying once again to break free from his grasp.

But he ignored her comment, as if it was nothing but a confirmation of his previous statement and continued, his tone and hold on her unaltered by her wriggling. "I was sleeping, because unlike other people around here, I'm not in the glorious habit of sleeping all day. And, much like other people, I can't always sleep at night. In fact, my rest has been so severely and unexpectedly interrupted during recent nights, that I have to make the best of the few peaceful intervals that were left."

She gulped guiltily at his last words, her resistance starting to fade.

"Is this enough for you?"

She looked up at him mutinously, hoping to see an image that would contradict his words, but he did indeed look tired, so she nodded reluctantly and gradually relaxed in his embrace. Rhett had shifted slightly to the left and drew her closer so that the back of her head was now resting against his shoulder.

"You need to understand I would have woken up, had I had the smallest clue something was wrong."

She nodded again and leaned back into his chest, silently willing him to stop talking. She was so tired of it all. She had declared the ceasefire, and this was supposed to be her reward, this moment of peace that he was tainting with words.

She suspected his persistence on the subject to be a roundabout way of apologizing, but that didn't make much of a difference. She was now in her husband's arms, they were more or less talking about her pregnancy; she could feel his breath on her hair and the warmth of his hand as he was caressing her upper arm. This was as close to a perfect moment that they would get and she was determined not to let him ruin it with his guilt and twisted words.

So she closed her eyes and only listened to the sound of his voice, ignoring the meaning of what he was saying and nodding occasionally for him not to realize what she was doing. And his words continued to flow ceaselessly like the slow yellow waters of the Charleston rivers, washing over her, without moving her more than the currents could sweep along a boat tied to the wharf.

With the perfected instinct of one who had always shunned unpleasant realities, she would catch small parts of what he was saying and weave them easily in the perfect picture her mind had created. And when he said, "If I knew, do you really think I would have let you die there, three inches from me?", she finally had all it took for the moment to be complete. After all, the difference between "I wouldn't stand idly by and let you die." and "I can't live without you." was so insignificant; it was more than easy to understand Rhett said one meaning the other.

He continued to talk, his tone warmer as he progressed, the inflections of his voice so gentle she was sure it wouldn't be long before he'd whisper endearments. And then his hand, that had brushed along the entire length of her arm, came to rest lightly on her stomach. All was right in the world and her happiness was now complete.

She was ready to listen to him and welcome his words now. Only that they were not quite what she had imagined them to be.

"…to be stopped by your stupid pride and not ask for help, to endanger not only your health but the health of the baby, a baby you claim to care for…"

For the second time that day, he had managed to deliver a blow she could not have foreseen, and she closed her eyes briefly, feeling the old rush rising in her. Of course he wasn't driven by guilt and the need to apologize as she had naively assumed. He had played her for a fool; she should have known better. Indifference was not offering him a steady enough ground, so he had played the doting, concerned husband in order to break her defenses and renew his attack. And a fury greater than before rose in her, because now fury was the only thing that stood between her and heartbreak.

He had finally gone too far. To pretend to worry about her and then accuse her of not caring about the baby was a low trick, but she knew him to be a dirty player so she could stand it. But when a move of his hand on her stomach reminded her that now _he _was pretending to care about the baby too, after weeks of indifference, it was finally too much for her to stand. Before her mind even had the time to register the gesture, she had pushed him away with all her strength.

Rhett made no move to stop her as she distanced herself from him, but put a firm hand on her arm when she tried to rise from the sofa. He didn't seem surprised at her sudden change of demeanor, and she wondered briefly what else he had said in that sickly sweet voice while she had been just pretending to listen.

"We are not done talking here."

"Indeed?" she turned to him with narrowed eyes. "Well, if you have more things to add, then write a list and maybe I can be bothered to read it later. Or no, leave it as it is. I think I have enough imagination to fill the gaps between your _lies_."

He sighed as if reluctant to enter the game, but delivered the retort. "I think you should know by now that your imagination is too scarce to even encompass some of my lies, let alone come up with plausible ones on its own. But, ironically enough, the little imagination you do have is preventing you to see the truth here. Which is precisely the reason why I'm explaining it to you now."

His calm, non-involved tone, added to the audacity of the words, had the effect of a slap in the face and she stared at him for a few seconds, frozen.

"You? _You_ are explaining the truth to me? Is that what you call your lies these days, explaining the truth?" she nearly spit out the last words.

She brushed his hand off her arm, before starting again in a high voice. "You want to make sure I know the truth? Fine, enlighten me then. You wish I had woken you up and asked for your help? Why would you want that? To hear more things that are immaterial to you? To test your resistance and see if you'd flee after all? So what _is_ the truth?"

He remained silent, studying her with a queer expression, something between amusement and expectation, which only added to her fury.

"Let me tell you what I believe, no, what I _know_ to be the truth," she hissed. "You couldn't care less about me. And not only that you don't care about the baby, but you hate the mere thought of it because it endangers your precious freedom. You think I'm blind? This is the truth, even if you are too coward to openly admit it."

But the relief she had expected from hurling angry words at him never came. Instead, she had the disquieting feeling she had walked into a trap as she saw his face become expressionless.

"First of all," he drawled, "if things are as you paint them; if that is how you believe—how you _know_ them to be," he paused emphatically, "then we should agree I am not the greatest coward of the two. And if I am, I don't remember you complaining about my cowardice as long as you saw any benefit to be derived from it. "

He raised his hand to stop her reply, except that there was none. His words had silenced Scarlett. She realized now that she had indeed gone too far, that she had pushed him in dangerous, uncharted territory and there was no saying what would happen next.

"Secondly," he continued, "don't be a fool. It's not my freedom that's at stake here. My freedom's been gone for so long, I don't even remember a time I still had it. The child changed nothing. It was like putting a lock on a door I had no intention to open. On a door that, even if I wished to, couldn't open. But you, my dear, you could have done it and you no longer can. It's about your freedom we're talking."

A door he couldn't unlock? Her freedom? She had no time to ponder on his twisted words. She felt they were on the verge of uttering things that couldn't be taken back, so she answered hastily.

"I have all the freedom I want."

"You really think so? In that case I would be more than interested to hear what you believe—excuse me, what you _know_ freedom to be."

She was not about to enter his game. She was sure he was waiting for her reply just to somehow catch her in the wrong and mock her, but she didn't care. What she needed to do now was to revert this dangerous situation, to steer the conversation from this menacing path.

"I can't understand what you are trying to get at. I don't need more freedom than I have. What good does it bring, if you don't do anything with it? I don't want freedom. I want—"

"You want something that's not here and I suspect part of the reason you want it is precisely this. You only want things you can't get; that's how your mind works. And no, I never assumed you'd claim your freedom for freedom's sake, though that would have been a thing to admire, especially in a woman. I thought you'd claim it for a different reason."

Her mind was telling her that she could still stop this, but more powerful than that was the need to look down into the dizzying abyss. She looked at him with questioning eyes, and he continued in the same maddeningly calm voice.

"Did it ever occur to you that there may still come a time of disenchantment? That, as the poet would put it, one day Venus might spare you? And that, once that happened, you'd wish you kept your exit clear? It's never a wise thing to burn all the bridges, and yet there is nothing you do with more enthusiasm when you're striving to attain whatever it is you think you want."

She looked down at her hands, trying to grasp the meaning of his strange words. And suddenly it came to her, the simple undeniable truth, the answer to the riddle that these last years had been. She had been just as wrong in assuming he would honor his promise of respecting their marriage, as she had been in fearing he would openly go against his word and desert her. The answer was shining in front of her now, obscuring everything else and she couldn't overlook it, no matter how painful it was. Every word he had said, every move he had made seemed to acquire a new meaning in the right light of this realization; making her own actions suddenly look pitiful and naive.

She raised her eyes and stated simply, in a soft and empty voice,

"You've tried to make me leave you."


	7. Not a victory march

If pain was what she was supposed to feel right now, then pain was nothing but a dry mouth. She could not find another thing to say. If she was right, and she was sure that she was, then she had wasted years of her life playing a game whose rules she hadn't known and, worse yet, she had believed she was winning.

She blinked slowly, as a sense of déjà vu filled her senses. The numbness of soul which translated into numbness of body, the weariness that clouded her thoughts to the point she doubted her own ability of facing the future, these were all familiar sensations, embedded in her being like anchors of the past. It was easier now to look back than to face the present, so she tried to bring that time back to her memory. And then the bitter taste of remembrance rose in her mouth, and she recognized in it the old dead moment that was so strangely similar to the one she was living now.

_It was winter again and her feet hurt from the cold, and it was the worst kind of pain, because it was pain that meant nothing. All the deprivations meant nothing now, because, in spite of them, she would still lose everything she held dear._

_It was a cold January day and on the other side of Ellen's desk was Will, stating unemotionally that they needed more money for the taxes she thought they had already paid. And the truth was in front of her then, just like it would be on more than one occasion: she had fooled herself._

_She had believed that at the end of the day blood and sweat, her blood and her sweat, were enough to win the fight and save them all. And she had been wrong._

She had been wrong. Love and tenderness and sacrifices had never stood a chance before him, if his mind had been already made up. He had never considered yielding an option. It was that simple. He had toyed with her like a cruel child would with a bug, allowing it to crawl up the entire length of his arm before dismissing it with a careless shove of the hand back to the beginning.

What was it that he had once told her during the war, when general Lee was making his triumphal advance into Pennsylvania, that the South stood no chance of winning, despite this row of apparent victories? That the North was fighting the war with only half its resources, but, if necessary, could easily turn to the other half and defeat its opponent?

Like the Yankees, he had played this game with one hand behind his back. She had lived with him, talked to him and made love with him and she had thought she was slowly getting through his defenses. But now she understood that, when she got too close, all he had to do was bring that arm out and reject her. And apparently this child meant getting too close.

There was an all too familiar lump in her throat and she brought a slender hand to her neck, as if willing it to go away. This was not the time for weakness. What she needed to do now was to walk away from this room and find a quiet place where she could put her thoughts in order and wait for the inevitable pain to take the place of numbness. Because there was one aspect in which this moment differed from that distant, half forgotten one. She had no one to turn to. Back then she had at least had the hope of solace in the form of Ashley—though Ashley hadn't proved to be the best comfort, her mind added mercilessly. He had let her make a fool of herself. Everyone did, eventually.

Rhett was watching her with an odd expression, as if debating whether the conversation was worth continuing. But it was her lack of response, the vacant expression on her face after she had uttered those words, "You've tried to make me leave you", that made him react.

"Do you honestly think that, if I had tried, we'd be here today?"

Their conversations had never before gone so far, but the pattern was familiar. Whenever one of them was dancing on the edge, ready to utter things that could not, would not be ignored, the other would reach out in the last second and draw them away from the dangerous abyss. And Rhett was using that chance now.

"Do you remember anything I told you that night, when I agreed to live with you again?"

His tone was gentle now, the tone he used when Ella couldn't remember some poem she'd had to learn and he would help her by whispering the first words. And much like her daughter would, Scarlett looked at him with slightly narrowed eyes, uncertainty etched in her features, trying her best to conjure the memory of that night and give the right answer.

_Though the funeral had long before ended, its sense of closure was yet to descend upon the house on East Battery. The rooms upstairs still held the faint traces of Eleanor Butler's last earthly hours, and it was that what made her seek Rhett's company on the porch. She would have avoided him that night, in hope of delaying the talk that she knew must now ensue, but she couldn't face the silence by herself; it reminded her of other bleak hours from the past, of other dark houses turned barren by mourning._

_The humid, menacing heat of May was beginning to dissolve into the night, as they stood like two strangers in a waiting room, side by side, and yet not quite together, their silences flowing like parallel rivers. Rhett was staring pensively at the glass of bourbon in his hand, and she started to relax, for he didn't seem inclined to talk._

_He'd had such a terrible day; it must have dredged up old wounds—she knew that and she harbored the small hope that it might keep him from bringing up other unpleasant subjects. If only things between them could remain as they had been this morning. She'd been at his side, arm linked through his, and, when the coffin started its descent, he tensed so suddenly, unthinkingly, that her hand was captive there, crushed in the crook of his elbow. She winced slightly, almost imperceptibly, but didn't say anything and made no move to withdraw her hand. In a strange way she felt as though he was letting her in, as though he was sharing some of his pain with her. And then Rhett remembered himself and loosened the grip, bringing his other hand over hers apologetically._

"_I made arrangements for the hotel," he finally broke the silence._

_She breathed in, suddenly feeling as though her dress weighed a hundred pounds. This was it, the time had come. Her arrival in Charleston in March had been another daring strike in the long campaign of winning Rhett back. He had had neither the occasion, nor the energy of pushing her away while his mother had been ill, he had accepted her company and help, but nothing had changed. He would now send her back to Atlanta._

"_My mother and I," he continued in a voice devoid of any inflection, "have decided the best way of passing this house to Rosemary would be by stating it in the will. This way, her husband would have no qualms about it—it would not look as I am doing any act of charity. I want them to move here as soon as possible."_

_It was as if nothing had changed. He'd talked to her in this tone before, during the long evenings they had spent alone in this house, when not tending to the ill—alone indeed, because there was no past in the room with them, just the brandy, coffee and cigars, and Rhett's voice, as he was talking slowly, evenly, more to himself than to her. And she had hung on his every word, not because she understood what he was saying, but because she loved him and because it was her fate to only love men that talked in riddles. But now the fragile truce between them should have shattered under Mrs. Butler's death. And yet his voice had remained the same uninvolved but friendly drawl._

"_I have a couple of houses in mind. You should of course offer your opinion too," he nodded towards the distinctive triangle Scarlett's white handcuffs and pale face made in the dark. " I suppose we will need a larger one. The children will have their needs."_

_His words registered, but her mind couldn't process them. Her mind that should have been laughing and crying and thanking God—her mind that only felt a sort of numb, incredulous joy. If this truly was the moment she had been fighting for, why didn't she feel like she had conquered the world?_

"_So you are—you are going to—"she started, feeling more ineloquent than ever in her life._

"_Yes," he cut her off calmly. "I am going to return to the bosom of our family."_

_He was mocking her, and he was mocking himself with that choice of words, but she didn't care. The first defined sensation had reached her mind. It wasn't what she had so often imagined she would feel in this moment—happiness, or warmth, or tenderness—but only a vague sense of victory. Because she may not have conquered the world, but nonetheless, she had won and Rhett had lost, and it was that simple._

_Of course, she was also aware that this wasn't the end of it. It was just a first battle won, and in front of her lay the war; a war she needed to know where to start. There was one last thing she had to grasp before they would step into their married life again: how much of this was just conditional surrender. She breathed deeply, summoning her courage, and asked,_

"_Why?"_

How could she know the answer after all these years, if she hadn't known it then? He had said so many things that night and she remembered so little. She hadn't allowed his words to touch her then simply because she knew they held a different, secret meaning, one that he wouldn't admit to himself. To her, all he had said translated and converged into one central idea: he was giving her this chance because deep down he still loved her. It didn't matter that he wouldn't openly confess it, she knew it had to be true. Why would he have returned to her otherwise?

Scarlett had fully expected that, someday, when they reminisced about that conversation, she could tease him about how she'd known before he did that he still loved her. But now that dream was as distant as ever and she had to find something, anything neutral enough to offer as an answer.

"You said—you said Ashley was made of sterner stuff."

"So you remember that, don't you?" he said with a slight, non-amused smirk. "Yes, I said that, among other things, but I suppose it is as good a description of it as anything else. He _is_ made of sterner stuff where you're concerned, though, if you come to think about it, the way he resisted you was by getting married and fighting a war—two things I have no intention of ever doing again in this life."

He paused as if expecting her to say something in return, but Scarlett remained silent, puzzled. As always, he seemed to talk a different language, one in which the words didn't have their usual meanings, one in which under every pause lurked the poison of an insult.

"But no, it's not only that, though I'll admit to laying emphasis on it at the time. It was true that I was tired of running away from you. I knew you wouldn't stop—you never stop. And, at my age, one starts to wonder whether it's worth the effort, fighting and all. But I would have continued despite that, because we're the same in this aspect: I can never stop either, not when there still is the smallest reason to fight left. I would have continued to run from you till I lay dying, telling myself I was only preserving my sanity, if it weren't for the fact that I lack your talent at overlooking the truth."

She suddenly felt miserable. He was talking to her like he had done only once before, openly, without his usual quips, without the sarcasm; he was talking to her like she had always wished he would. And she still couldn't follow him.

"The wrecks our lives turned out to be—" Rhett stopped, as if checking his words. "The…misfortune of _your_ life," he started again, raking a hand through his hair, "came from two sources, equally: the war and myself. The war is as impersonal as it is inevitable, but I—I have been blessed with free will and cursed with a conscience, so I had to pay my dues. And for some reason, that price, the one you requested, was myself. So be it," he shrugged and for a second, before he set his eyes on her again, Scarlett had the impression that he was talking to someone else; someone with whom he'd had this conversation before.

"I had no doubt I was not worth it, but that wouldn't have made any difference to you. You see, I kept telling myself you were not worth it, both before and after I married you. It didn't stop me; it wouldn't stop you. These things know no reason. You were hurting yourself, and you were hurting others in this mad, irrational campaign of yours. And I felt sorry for—"

"Sorry?" she interjected, appalled. "You felt sorry for me? You did this out of mercy?" He had finally reached a ground familiar to Scarlett; she felt she was grasping his words for the first time in this conversation—only that their meaning made the blood thump in her ears.

"Oh, Scarlett, you'll never understand this, will you? You will always be a firm believer in clear lines; black and white; love and hate and all the rest of the clichés. But, darling," he continued patiently, taking her hand in his again, "things are never like that. There are shades, and there are grays... and one can still continue to care for a person without that signifying undying love. Can you follow this at all?"

"No—no I can't." She jerked her hand free. "Either you love me or you don't. And if you don't, you had no right to lead me on, to—"

It wasn't fury what had smothered her words; it was the knowledge that she was wrong. He had never tried to deceive her; he had never said anything that went further than a vague commitment. She felt the pressure of tears against her lids and lowered her head, to preserve at least this small measure of dignity, because it wouldn't be long before he drew her attention to that fact himself. But to her surprise, when he spoke again, he sounded as if he had accepted the truth of her words; and though picking up the gauntlet in a fight was not a conventional nice gesture, it was the only one suited here and she felt grateful for it.

"What else could I have done? I was punished to see my own actions reversed. The cruelest spectacle a man has ever had to witness in his old age. You were chasing me and making my mistakes, step by step, and I could do nothing to change that. Nothing but offer you this, what you now call leading you on."

"So—so you decided that being married to you would change how I feel?"

He smiled briefly, for she had once again managed to express a delicate matter in the most brutal, succinct way there was, though he could see that she has barely holding back tears. "If I thought our marriage was the universal cure for love? Oh, one can always trust you to voice these things. No, I did not. I only hoped it would bring you some measure of relief, if not happiness."

He appraised her in silence for a second; a range of emotions that would have puzzled Scarlett, had she been able to see them, playing in his eyes at the picture she presented. She was once again staring at her hands, biting her lip in an attempt to keep the tears from falling, or disguise them if they had already started—he couldn't really tell.

"Come here." She didn't move. "Please," he said again, and then he shifted himself on the sofa, draping a heavy arm over her shoulders to motion her towards him. She went reluctantly and he drew her closer till her head rested on his chest. He couldn't see her face, but he divined from the stiffness of her body that it wouldn't be long before she recoiled from him.

"Scarlett," he started again, gently, but firmly, his breath brushing against her hair, "I thought I could be free. There were two paths in front of me and I thought the decision was mine to make. The one that I fully intended to pursue was the path of an Epicure, living on the ruins of the empire, seizing everything life still had to offer and waiting for death to show its mercy—tasting tradition as the ultimate perversion, if you'd prefer. The other one was you. And it turned out I wasn't free to choose; it turned out no man is free in his old age, if he has a conscience—and everyone has to live with the consequences of their acts."

Scarlett was very still and very silent, obviously listening but offering no sign of understanding. He took a deep breath and concluded, "In the bluntest of terms, I chose you over alcoholism and whores. And it's not a decision I can—or want to undo. You on the other hand could have and no longer can. You lost that chance the moment you went to see Dr. Meade in Atlanta."

Like it had happened so many times in the past, with Ashley, the general, larger meaning of what Rhett had said eluded her. She could follow him in some aspects, but once she tried to grasp what had to be important and meaningful in his words, they seemed to suddenly slip through her fingers like grains of sand. But he said he had chosen her. In his twisted way he had said that, and he'd also claimed not to regret his decision. That had to mean something.

Her tears—for she had indeed been crying—subsided as her mind staggered on the brink of a new idea. He had chosen her. Why he'd done so was less important, what mattered was that he was still here and he had no intention to leave her. And if that was true, then his behavior, his attitude towards the baby could only stem from one source. He was afraid she would not want him now that she had the baby. He was afraid of losing her. He was afraid of losing her, her mind sang in triumph. It all made sense, his disappointment when she had been afraid to tell him, his silent wait these last weeks, his concern now. Oh, how wrong she'd been! And how easy it was to repair that mistake.

"But, Rhett, you are so wrong. I don't want that. I would never want that. I—"

She had raised her head from his chest and was looking at him with shining, feverish eyes. For a moment, he gave her a questioning gaze, but then a grim understanding seemed to light in his pupils and, with the expression he'd had saying, "So be it", he nodded for her to continue.

"I want you," she started breathlessly. "I know we had a—a bad month, but it wasn't supposed to be like that. It doesn't have to be like that. We can be so happy, we can—"

She couldn't read the look on his face. There was a sort of semi-amused, incredulous resignation in his expression, coupled with something else, but, regardless, it wasn't his trademark hard, cold stare. He seemed to wordlessly invite her to go on, and she didn't know what else to add. She wished she could say, "I love you", but those words seemed terribly out of place after all that had been said between them today.

So instead of that, she reached and kissed his cheek, in the semblance of a natural, familiar gesture. She didn't quite know what to expect, she had done it more tentatively than she would care to admit even to herself, but she exhaled in relief when Rhett's arms encircled her shoulders and kept her in place.

"I want you. I don't want anything else. I don't want to open any doors or—or whatever you said." She felt him smiling against her cheek at this rendition of his earlier words.

"Well, then, it seems we are on the same page with this," Rhett replied as he moved her to his lap; Scarlett, for the first time that day, not fighting his embrace. "Neither of us can open that door now, so why not make living here as comfortable as possible?"

He rested his chin on the top of her head, inhaling the light perfume of her hair, allowing the peace of this moment to wash over him. And then awareness of what exactly had triggered this relief, this satisfaction of holding Scarlett in his arms, reached his mind and he flinched. After all he'd told her; after making her see reason to a degree, though she was still deluded as to his motivations; after securing the victory—_this_. _This_ rising inside him, the sickeningly, excruciatingly familiar feeling, resurrected from the dead to mock him, his words and his victory.

"I've missed you," he murmured more to himself than to her, with the dismayed tone of one who just found a hole in their favorite suit.

"What?" came Scarlett's voice, muffled in his shirt.

He'd missed her over these weeks. It had been so long since they had spent this much time in cold hostilities. He must have gotten used to the comfortable life of the last years, he told himself. His wife was just as useless for the emptiness inside him as liqueur and tobacco were, but, just like them, she had finally carved her way to his bloodstream. His lips contorted in something close to disgust. Couldn't he be spared this last?

"Nothing, I just—" He made a small, almost imperceptible pause before changing the subject smoothly. "There is something else we need to discuss, Scarlett. I suspect you missed some of the things I said earlier and I meant them. This thing of yours, lying to me, hiding things, especially about your health, has come at the wrong time. And it has to stop."

She stiffened against his shoulder, divided between irritation at his sudden tone of authority and the smallest twinge of guilt at the thought she still hadn't told him about her plan of traveling to England.

"What about you?" she started defensively. "Why is it always all right for you to lie, but, when I do it, all hell has to break loose?"

"Darling, that's because you're poor liar," he chuckled warmly. "But I suppose you do have a point here. How is this for a deal? You'll tell me the truth and I'll return the courtesy?"

"Yes," she breathed appeased, snuggling against his chest. "We'll do that."

And they were both lying.


	8. A hundred indecisions

They were on the verge of something. What that thing was Scarlett couldn't have said in earnest, for she could find in it none of the clear, self-evident contours her mind easily grasped and therefore generally appreciated. But, despite this slight lapse in comprehension—or, perhaps, precisely because of it—she felt something she hadn't felt in years, something that most people lose as they depart from their youths anyway and that she herself hadn't had a taste of since before her miscarriage. In short, she felt that she could still make a difference.

As the fight and the strain it had imposed on their daily life dissipated, she and Rhett had slipped into a routine that was as peculiar as it was utterly familiar to them both. On one hand, and perhaps less surprisingly, they had largely reverted to the way things had been before their trip to Atlanta, before she had announced her pregnancy. And those past days of their marriage—which they now seemed to steer back to—had not been entirely bad. What they admittedly lacked in passion, they made up for in comfort, and, had she been any other woman and had the stubborn determination to right unrequited love not been the axis and constant purpose of all her actions, Scarlett would have been satisfied with that.

For after all, it was what she had been raised to look for in marriage—not ardent love, but the quiet fondness that came with the constant fulfillment of duty; the clean, warm complicity of family ties; the comfortable reliability of a spouse—and, even more than that, it was closer to the model of her parents' marriage than she would have suspected.

In fact, granted the troubled first years of their lives could ever be forgotten, Wade and Ella might come to remember these Charleston years as Scarlett herself remembered the idyllic days of Ellen's reign, for they were at the age teenagers pass such mythological judgments on their parents, rarely to be changed in adulthood. They would look back at the figure of their stepfather—the Uncle Rhett that always knew what was right—with the worship people have for all things they don't understand, and at the figure of their mother—the headstrong, hot-blooded wife discreetly presided over by her husband—with the kind of indulgent love Scarlett herself had for Gerald, generously turning a kind eye on precisely the defects they had inherited.

And, puzzled and reluctant as her insight on the matter was, Scarlett couldn't entirely suppress that knowledge—that perhaps she should simply be happy with what she had at this point, that at least according to all the teachings of her mother she should have. A house, children, a husband she loved. It was the pinnacle of a woman's existence and she had finally reached it in truth. And somehow it still wasn't enough.

That she hadn't had a sense of fulfillment before was easier to explain, on account of the war that had killed Charles, on account of the Reconstruction she had had to live through during her marriage with Frank, and, especially, on account of her love for Ashley, that had marred both her first two marriages and the first years of her union with Rhett. If she hadn't been happy, it was not because happiness was impossible to attain in the first place, or because marriage might not have been the right and unique path to it. She hadn't been happy before simply because she didn't have the man she wanted, she didn't have Ashley. And she was not happy now because she didn't have Rhett—the Rhett of the past. Once she had him, once she had the certainty that he loved her again, everything will be solved.

And it was with this conclusion that she used to stop thinking about the problem altogether in the days prior to her pregnancy, and return to the dilemma of how to win Rhett back that had occupied her mind the last years to the point of obscuring any other conscious target and that accounted for the restrained life she had imposed upon herself.

But this was exactly where things had changed in the fight's aftermath. For to say that they had simply returned to their old routine was not quite accurate. Something had been added to the mixture, something that Scarlett could not even allow herself to hope for at first, though the situation shouldn't have been entirely unfamiliar to her. They had been through this before.

It was hard to say how it happened, but something had changed in Rhett's demeanor. Perhaps it was nothing more than the advancement of her pregnancy what had triggered it, but, nonetheless, he seemed to have been drawn in the dance of silent expectations and instincts never quite followed upon that had become his wife's trademark. And since her behavior was in large part mirroring his from the first years of their marriage, it was like he had reverted in some strange way to that period, to that man, and along with it a series of his old peculiar gestures had resurfaced.

He was just as thoughtful and polite as he had constantly been after Scarlett had announced her pregnancy; he seemed to anticipate her every wish or need before she voiced it, and treated her with utmost courtesy. But whereas before all of his actions had had an undertone of kind, almost amused detachment, now weird expressions flitting across his face accompanied them at times—hesitation, eagerness, or even dread—flickers that vanished before Scarlett knew what to make of them, but that served as catalyst for her expectations regardless.

It was as if, through some enchanted glass or another, they had been taken back to one of those moments Scarlett had longed so much to change as the years went by—the morning after Ashley's birthday party or the day Rhett and Bonnie returned from Charleston. They were on the verge of something now, just like they had been then, and this time Scarlett would make sure they didn't err. For only fools fell twice into the same trap, only fools didn't learn from their misfortunes, and, if it was beyond debate that she had on more than one occasion engaged in foolish acts, to being called a fool Scarlett would never resign. This was her second chance and she would not waste it.

But then, inevitably, doubts would creep into her mind. For was this really the second summer of their marriage? Had the change in Rhett been one simple, continuous process, an undisrupted stroll through times that had been long gone, she would have had no problem to draw that conclusion and subsequently thank God on bended knee. But as things were, Scarlett was hesitant to do that, because even if her impressions were right and Rhett was indeed slipping into his old habits, she still had nothing more than hints, flashes of light in an otherwise dark room, to judge upon. And as hard as she tried to unite everything into one coherent whole and find a significance to it—the one possible significance that would soothe both her mind and her heart—sometimes it just seemed that she was wrong, as she had been so many times already.

And there were so many little things about Rhett these days that had made her hold her breath in sweet anticipation, to then dissolve into confusion or downright disappointment.

There was the way he would look at her sometimes, especially when he thought he wasn't being watched in return, with something that vaguely resembled his old cat at a mouse hole look.

The first time that she'd unexpectedly turned around to catch him peering at her like that, she had been stunned beyond words for a second, entirely forgetting what it was that she had wanted from him in the first place, and then, almost immediately exhilarated, with the sort of feeling that shoots painfully through the stomach and weakens one's knees. And, to her misfortune, neither her lips parting in nearly audible surprise, nor the glint of raw, almost savage joy in her eyes had gone unnoticed by Rhett and his face smoothed back to its unreadable lines.

That she had caught him in the act, it was clear, just as it was clear that he would never acknowledge it. He acted like nothing happened, his eyebrows slightly raised and a smile so affable it bordered on sarcasm plastered on his face as he waited for her to talk, and Scarlett had no choice but to swallow around the lump in her throat and let the awkward moment pass, for she wasn't about to confront him.

She had lost so many confrontations to him over the years that she had learned to avoid them almost instinctively. It was not a sign of meekness; she had not become the docile little wife embracing every one of her husband's words as gospel truth. Scarlett had simply turned her fantastic, frightening energy upon herself, effectively cutting at the root anything that could have been an impediment in what Rhett had referred to as her mad, irrational campaign, and, in doing so, she had actually opposed her husband more than she could have with all the fights and tantrums in the world, though of that she remained blissfully unaware.

After something of this magnitude, fighting back the slight annoyance she now felt at Rhett's attitude was a child's play. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered but the thought that later, when alone in the safety of her room, she could bask in the utter joy of this moment. A moment she had almost despaired of ever living again.

But then the next days came and with them, the inevitable temperance of her happiness. Things were different from what she had imagined them at a first glance to be. Hours of intent, tense wait while watching Rhett's every move out of the corner of her eye only led to the disheartening conclusion that what she'd seen on his face was not—could not be the look that had accompanied, and to an extent betrayed, his old, hidden feelings.

For while it was true that he was following her with the same sort of speculative, waiting note in his eyes, his expression was not exactly that of a man secretly in love with her. It was more of a questioning gaze, as if he was asking her what it was that she wanted, what they were supposed to do now. And not only that she was not prepared for Rhett to ask her questions of this sort to begin with, but she also had the feeling that for the answer he was waiting in dread, like what he was to receive from her lips was nothing short of a death sentence. He looked as if he was forcing himself beyond the limits of his own resistance not to turn and walk away. That sort of controlled, cold fear she sometimes caught in his eyes was something Scarlett could not understand, but it froze her in place and made her utterly miserable. He didn't love her.

But there were times when, along with expectancy, something of his old eagerness seemed to shine in his pupils and her heart would skip a beat—he loved her, he had to—and she suddenly fancied she knew the answer, the one word that she was supposed to say and then they would be happy. But every time she would start towards him then, her heart clearly written on her face, he seemed to withdraw; his eyes were blank again and she knew nothing.

And then there was that day, when they seemed to have come closer to a turning point than ever before. Scarlett was in front of the mantelpiece, trying to fix the mess Prissy had made of the flower arrangement and chatting idly over her shoulder with Rhett that was lounging in an armchair near the fireplace. She couldn't remember what she had been talking about, but the moment she'd stopped was etched in her mind and she would recall it with extreme clarity over the following days, time and again as she tried to make sense of it all.

She hadn't heard Rhett move to stand, but she was suddenly aware of his silent presence behind her, and the words died on her lips. He was close, unnervingly close, though his body was not touching hers yet. She could feel the warmth radiating from him—the warmth that would radiate from any other person standing at such small a distance behind her. But then there was this warm tide rising inside her like it hadn't in years, and the way time seemed to hold its breath and then hasten, racing along with her pounding pulse—and those were things that no one but Rhett could bring.

She shivered, but didn't turn her head. Somehow she didn't dare to do that; as if she was afraid it would end if she looked back. And she didn't want it to end. They were suspended in this moment, a moment so unexpected, so improbable between them that she hadn't as much as imagined it once in the most fervent of her dreams. And in way that was the best assurance that she wasn't only dreaming of it now—this was almost miraculous in feeling, and yet so simple that she knew her mind couldn't have fabricated it on its own.

She waited for Rhett to do something and for a short second she thought he was about to. In the rustling sound of his coat and the slight draft of warm air upon her arm she guessed the movements of his hand in a slow, floating caress a hairsbreadth from her skin just like a blind person would anticipate the touch, the contact seconds before it happened. She blinked hard and remained motionless; her entire body and, more importantly, her mind taut as a bowstring as she waited for it to happen.

And then, as unexpectedly as it had started, the moment was over. Her wait was fruitless; nothing happened and she fought the sudden urge to slump against the mantelpiece. She swallowed hard, fighting back the glassy, prickling tears the intensity of her sensations had brought to her eyes, and then she finally turned her head. Her heart was still thumping somewhat erratically as she expected to be met by her husband's frame, but there was no one behind her. Rhett was on the other side of the room, looking out the window, his hands in his pockets, and for a second—a long, horrible second—she feared she had gone insane.

But no, it couldn't be, her mind immediately protested. If this had been the projection of her foolish hopes, a mere product of her delusion, Rhett would still be in his armchair, not by the window. She had seen his shadow covering hers on the mantelpiece minutes ago; he'd been there. He had meant to touch her, he had been so close to touching her, but he changed his mind and held back, and now he would pretend it never happened.

And as she looked at his unmoving back, desperation and fury took turns inside her. Fury at herself for indulging in the moment and not turning around at the right time; desperation at him, at his casual poise and twisted ways. But, over the following days reluctant hope came to soften the edges of those initial feelings. He was only Rhett; it was to be expected of him, after all. She'd listened to his words and trusted his countenance once and the price had been twelve years of missed chances and a miscarriage. She had learned her lesson. His denials didn't matter, only his gestures did.

And besides, these peculiar moments—whether hope inducing or disconcerting—were just a tiny fraction of their daily life anyway. For the rest Rhett was calm and kind, and at times openly affectionate towards her, even if it was in the not-overly-involved manner she remembered quite well from the first year of their marriage. It was impossible to say for sure whether his emotions ran deeper, or that was all he had for her—the same sort of caring, tender feelings he held for Wade or Ella and nothing more.

But it didn't matter that much, because life was quite comfortable at his side for the moment. Though several sensitive issues, especially those pertaining to her pregnancy, were yet unspoken, there was a new closeness building between them, and Scarlett was unwilling to jeopardize that. She needed peace and quiet now, and there still was so much hope for the future, more than at any point before. The birth of a new child could only make things better between them, could only bond them further. And so she started to silently believe, because it fit her plans, that nothing would change this tranquil state until the baby was born.

And then there came his reaction when they discussed traveling to London to question this belief and force the moment to a crisis.


	9. The gate of horn

Scarlett agonized over proposing an European sojourn for more than a week after the fight had ended, all the while being painfully aware that she was racing against the clock, that the longer she waited, the more likely Rhett was to turn her down, and with good reason too, because soon the risks of traveling in her condition would overcome any possible advantages of the said enterprise. But still, their reconciliation was so fresh, and the peace so hard earned, that she couldn't bear the thought of opposing him anew.

And so she'd let the days pass, their lukewarm comfort washing reassuringly over her, attenuating her anxiety as she concocted endless schemes that would solve this problem in her favor. Many people superior in imagination needed starting points, foreign elements to inspire them in elaborating stories, so it wasn't surprising that Scarlett soon found herself musing upon different tales she had heard over the years of women that had successfully manipulated their husbands to their advantage. But all those stories had a common denominator, which also happened to turn them useless in the present situation—their narrators hadn't been married to Rhett.

Rhett would see through each and every one of those excuses, and he would inevitably come to question her motives for avoiding the truth. And then she would have to tell him that she had lied to him before, that she had lied to him early in their new life together and he would be disappointed in her again, like he was when she hadn't trusted him with the news of her pregnancy.

For even though her medical problems—most of them minor—traced back to her miscarriage, it had been in the first months of the couple's reconciliation, years ago, that they had suddenly and inexplicably intensified. At first, Scarlett had been dismayed like one would be if they broke their leg on the eve of a journey they'd been dreaming of for years. But that initial sense of desperation didn't take long to dissipate. Ever one to quickly dismiss obstacles of any sort, she managed to convince herself that nothing was wrong. Her health had never been a reason for worry before and she would not allow it to become one now.

The occasional numbness in her limbs, the headaches, even the vague choking sensations, they could all be ignored. It was pointless to fret about them, for they were sure to pass in time. And, even if they didn't, it was still important that Rhett didn't learn about them. Scarlett herself wouldn't have been able to point towards the central element around which the twisted line of her reasoning had woven itself in this aspect; she couldn't have given one simple motive for her decision to lie to him at the time. Too many things had come into play there, but, originally, it must have been the way she resented his pity what had started it all.

She had come to learn over the years that if there was one thing for which Rhett incriminated himself when it came to her, then that was the accident that led to her miscarriage. Even during the period when she had chased him to no avail, when sometimes it was plain obvious that he regarded her as a danger and hindrance, as an enemy to his peace, rather than as a wife or, even less, as a lover, any sign of physical weakness on her part would break his impenetrable mask and bring echoes of past torment and guilt to his face. He would act then with all the solicitude of a kind concerned stranger, so close to the way he had behaved after her miscarriage, so impersonal in his good intentions that she found her throat constricting miserably.

She could have of course used his guilt to her advantage and she knew he would have returned to her sooner if she had. It wasn't that her conscience had pricked her at the thought. After all, it was a weak spot in his armor and God only knew how hard it was to find one and how badly she needed them to cling to in her desperate struggle. No, she would have had no qualms in using that and everything else she could find to get him back, if only she didn't know that in doing so she would have lost him forever. He would see her as weak and pity her for that. And pity, as everyone knows, is just one step away from pure disdain, and, as such, a weapon Scarlett used only in the most desperate of situations, and even then with a certain amount of reluctance.

In light of this reasoning, it was not surprising that she hadn't told Rhett when she'd started feeling unwell. She didn't want his mercy; she had to win his love fair and square if it was to mean anything. But there had been another reason for hiding the truth when her symptoms could no longer be ignored. And that happened during their very first stay in England, soon after their reconciliation, in 1875.

She was trying so hard to be the best wife at the time, to show Rhett that he had made the right choice in returning to her, that somehow, irrationally, being ill she perceived as a fault. She wouldn't be a burden to him, not now, not after he had agreed to give her another chance. She wouldn't force him to shoulder her problem. Instead she would solve it herself; she would go and see a doctor and when everything was fine again, she could let her husband know and receive his admiration with a becoming modest smile.

That admiration never came though, for she never found herself in the position to tell him. Her first visit with a doctor, in London, had been disastrous. New to the city, Scarlett didn't know anyone well enough to ask them to accompany her in a secret medical expedition so she had to go alone. And not only that she'd felt out of place visiting the doctor's office by herself, she had also been appalled and furious at his diagnostic—_"Hysteria, of all things? Nonsense!"_—and, driven more by the desire to prove him wrong than by anything else, she sought a second opinion.

The next doctor was an amiable fellow. He moved and talked with all the ease of a polished man of the world, and to Scarlett, accustomed with the ways of Dr. Fontaine and Dr. Meade that now in comparison looked more than conservative—provincial, his cordiale manner had been a little disconcerting. She could already sense a second failure. But Dr. Hallett did everything right. He listened to her complaints—grinning ever-so-slightly at the verdict his peer had rushed to give—seemed to take her seriously and offered a vague enough diagnosis with a precise treatment. All in all, Scarlett had been very satisfied with that visit, until the very end.

"_It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, madam," he courteously bowed her to the door, as if they had met at one of the elegant receptions that spiced the Season, and not under the terms of a medical consultation. _

_But before Scarlett had the chance to introduce the old continent to her Southern Belle simper and answer in kind, Dr. Hallett pressed on, "But if I am not presuming too far, could you answer me this one question before you leave? I have been trying my hardest to recall the name of an old friend's wife, but alas, my memory wouldn't oblige. And so I am forced to abuse your patience and ask. Is by any chance your husband a Mr. Rhett Butler from Charleston?" _

_It is said that women of the world strive to maintain their composure under any circumstances, that they don't pale or blush. And, under the doctor's inquisitive gaze, Scarlett managed to do both. _

"_Yes," she answered after only a brief hesitation, her voice less betraying than her countenance undoubtedly was, "yes, as a matter of fact he is. Do you know each other?" _

_They most certainly did. Out of all the doctors in the entire city of London, Scarlett had had the disputable luck of stumbling upon one that was also Rhett's friend, and now she was forced to explain how her husband was unaware of both her visit here and the condition that had caused it. _

_She started to hesitantly elaborate on how she didn't want to alarm Rhett with her symptoms. But, to her relief and gratitude, Dr. Hallett was prompt to interrupt this stammered tally of husbandly concern with one short wave of his hand. _

"_Oh, but of course. My dear lady, I have to say, the sheer courage of your sex has me deeply humbled. You wouldn't believe how often I come across brave women, such as yourself, trying everything in their power to spare their husbands' sensibilities. I cannot claim to know Rhett as well as you do, but I am sure he would be worried to death." _

_It made sense for this man to be her husband's friend, for his tone—somehow ambivalent, somehow obscure—reminded her of the way Rhett would often disguise his ideas in words. And the last sentence, the way Hallett had stressed the final two words made her a little uneasy despite herself. It was as if he knew the sad truth of her marriage. _

_But the smile in his blue eyes seemed sincere enough, and besides she had no alternative other than to trust him. He assured her of his discretion and on that promise he made good, for, as far as she could tell, Rhett never found out of her visits there._

_Over the following months, Scarlett abided religiously by the prescribed treatment, a measure of tonic wine every evening, after dinner. Pitty's swoon bottle had been replaced by a much more treasured bottle of Vin Mariani that Scarlett carefully hid at the bottom of her trunk. The beverage was pleasant, it made her chatty and alert for a short while—the precious interval Rhett would spend with her after dinner sipping his brandy—it infused new color into her marital duties and helped her drift in the deepest of slumbers after. If Rhett noticed the change in her—the brightness of her eyes as he talked, the slightly feverish note of her kisses as he moved above her—he never commented on it. He might have also attributed it to something else, and he wouldn't have been entirely wrong. For the line between the coca wine-induced fervor and love was, admittedly, a thin one. _

_And so Scarlett came to remember the tonic as a friend and ally, for it had helped her through a critical period of her life, a period when she had needed all her forces with her. Moreover, she would remember Dr. Hallett with respect for he had been the supplier of that treatment and he had kept his promise to her. _

She had been cured then without her husband knowing, and now, almost three years after the fact, Scarlett didn't know how to tell him that she wanted to consult the same doctor. She was wasting her time in constructing intricate explanations that only served to hide a simple fact—she hadn't completely trusted Rhett then, like she couldn't completely trust him now, no matter how much she loved him.

But her ability to delay the dreaded discussion relied quite heavily on one condition—that her worry for the baby was kept at bay. At first, it seemed that it had dissolved entirely, washed away by the comfort of reconciling with Rhett. The simple fact that she was now accepting his silent support instead of wasting her energy fighting against it, the knowledge that he shared her concern, though to what extent she would never know, had gone a long way towards easing her mind.

And when she was busy observing Rhett's peculiar moods, in hope of catching the smallest sign of hidden love, Scarlett found she could spend hours without thinking once of her worries or grand plan. Spared of the magnifying light of her scrutiny, the symptoms that had alarmed her before seemed to have vanished as well. She no longer felt inexplicable pains; she no longer dreaded bedtime for fear of invisible weights crushing the breath out of her lungs.

All of the weird symptoms were gone, and there was only a peculiar new one to take their place. Her hand would sometimes twitch painfully and strain to curl into a fist, as if by its own volition. The first time it happened, Scarlett had stared at the small flowers adorning her skirts in fright and dismay. They had been crushed by her grip. But then it happened again, with a small teacup she managed to let go just before breaking, and then with her gloves and then she simply learned to ignore the twitching. It was strange, but not particularly alarming, because, try as she might, Scarlett could find no threatening note in that, no connection to her pregnancy. She didn't even mention it to her doctor, because it was so innocuous in its peculiarity that she would have felt ridiculous to give it too much importance.

But then its true significance was revealed and, with it, her fears returned.

~~o~~

_Bonnie smiled up at her from the bottom of the stairs. The last time she remembered seeing her, she had been wearing that plain white robe… But that was then and this was now. And now Bonnie was in her velvet blue dress again, a scared kitten dangling from it, half-strangled in her mistress' chubby arms. Scarlett's heart swelled with inexplicable joy and she gathered her skirts in one hand, preparing to descend the stairs to her daughter. _

_But then, behind her, she knew Wade was whining in dark. She turned her head, torn between the want, the need to hug Bonnie—that immense warmth at the thought she had her again—and the knowledge that her son was scared and needed her. "Muvver! Wade fwightened!" he called. He was afraid of the dark too, and of fire, and of the cannon balls that they had had all week, and she had left him alone. She glanced at Bonnie one last time but knew she had to go. _

_She was turning on her heels to go into the dark hallway, back to Wade. And then Rhett emerged from there too and he held her elbow for a moment, not letting her go. He did that because he loved her. And she loved him too; she had run all the way to the house to tell him that, and thank Heaven that it was not too late. He was still here to listen to her. But they were just standing there, and she couldn't talk because that choking feeling was back in her throat and all the sounds perished before getting out. _

_And then Rhett let go of her hand and started descending the stairs. He was going to the war; he was leaving her. She cried after him, but he didn't stop. And then it was as if her tongue was untied and words started pouring out, desperate to fill the space between them and draw him back. He couldn't leave her because she loved him. He couldn't leave her because she was having his child. At that he turned, only slightly, and he said the words. She knew them already before he opened his mouth. Cheer up... _

_And she launched towards him. She knew she was going to fall, to roll all the way to the bottom of the stairs, to lose the child. In the last moment, she managed to clutch the newel post, and she gripped it hard, with all her strength until her palm hurt around the carved wooden lion. It was not enough; she was still falling. Someone was trying to pry her fingers open from the post, to dislodge her and send her tumbling down. She clenched her fist harder, but it was in vain, for that person intensified their efforts too. He was too strong and she couldn't fight it, and her arm hurt from the strain. _

_One more minute, and it would be over. The baby would die. She looked at Rhett, and his face was white and full of fear, but he didn't extend his hands to help her, his arms to catch her. He just stood there and his voice was low and soothing as he said, "Scarlett, let go". And she started to cry, because he wanted her to stop fighting and go down. He wanted their child to die. And he came beside her and caressed her cheek with the back of his hand, tenderly. "It will be all right. I am here. Everything is fine, sweetheart. Let go." His voice was hypnotic, convincing; her will to fight was waning. _

_And then her lower body was sinking; she was going down, down into the darkness that was swirling and all enveloping and this time she was going to die. She looked into his eyes and started unclenching her fist, as he chanted over and over again, like a broken machine: "Let go. Let go._"

"Darling, let go."

Bonnie was dead. Wade was almost an adult, sleeping in his own room down the hall. Rhett was leaning over her, concern written on his face.

"Shh… It was only a nightmare," he whispered. He had been smoothing her hair, caressing her cheek, trying to wake her up. He had been trying to gently pry her fingers from their bruising grip on his forearm. It had all been a dream.

For a moment, the urge to grasp his arm again, this time to make sure that he was really there, that he wasn't the distant, mean Rhett of her dream, was strong, almost overwhelming. But she knew she must have hurt his arm before. She could still feel the pain in her knuckles from that viselike clutch. She couldn't do that again, awake. He wouldn't understand. She took a deep breath instead, trying to distance herself from the hazy, disturbing world of sleep, and nodded her permission for Rhett to leave her side and fetch her a glass of water.

She watched his movements in the dark and waited for his return, as she absentmindedly mused on the strangeness of her nightmare. And then she suddenly knew, she suddenly remembered. The newel post in her dream, her fist curling before… An icy sensation went through her stomach as the pieces of this irrational puzzle were, oddly enough, falling into place in her mind. She felt like there was a chilling, undeniable connection between the two—between the failed wild clutch for the post she had made all those years ago when she had miscarried and her strange symptom now—like her body knew something that she didn't and was trying to reiterate that same gesture over and over again, to save the child.

In this revelation, reason had played no part, but nonetheless she was convinced of its truth as if it were shining in front of her eyes like tangible gold coins, ready for her count and scrutiny. Everything made sense. She had been wrong in waiting for so long; she had to tell Rhett she wanted to see a new doctor. She had to tell him soon, tomorrow if possible. She would have told him now, now that he was so caring and soothing, only that she couldn't bring herself to mention the details of her dream. She couldn't bring herself to tell him that she had dreamed of her miscarriage, that she had dreamed of Bonnie.

Bonnie's death had affected Rhett in ways she couldn't completely understand. All she remembered were those dark months in Atlanta when he had been almost mad in his first grief and then the way he had simply stopped caring for the world and for himself and slipped into ruin. He never mentioned Bonnie to her; they never talked about that. She wished they could and that Rhett leaned on her or allowed her to lean on him in that aspect. She wished he talked to her about it, so at least she would know if his pain was any different from hers.

It had been easier back when she thought that he never talked about Bonnie at all, with anyone. But then one day when she came home, she found him leaning against the banister as Prissy—_Prissy, for God's sake!_—had taken one of her usual pauses from cleaning the stairs and was recounting something to him, about the little girl. She was smiling widely, mindlessly as she babbled; the memory must have been a bright, happy one.

Scarlett had frozen in the doorway, watching her husband, who seemed too absorbed to take notice of her presence. From time to time, his eyes would light up and he would nod almost eagerly at Prissy's words, as if he was once again walking the streets of Atlanta, receiving compliments for his daughter. For the rest he just seemed somber and lost in darker memories, but he made no move to stop the servant like he would have violently stopped her, Scarlett, and his countenance was not harsh. Just absent and, in a way, resigned.

Scarlett didn't know how the unlikely conversation came to happen, but starting with that day, she abandoned all hope of ever talking about Bonnie with Rhett. They couldn't share her in death more than they had when she was still alive. And her memory was in a way preventing them from talking openly about the new child and what being parents again would entail. She didn't want Rhett to think that she considered this child a replacement for their daughter, but she couldn't find the right words to tell him exactly what it meant to her.

Rhett returned with her water and watched her drink, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Your old dream again?" he asked, softly. For a moment she was taken aback, and then she feebly nodded at him.

"It's been years," he said as he took the glass away from her, and she knew he hadn't been deceived by her lie. He rarely ever was. But he didn't say anything.

When he returned to bed, her mind was already delving on how she would break the news to him tomorrow. What clever reason to give him so that he would acquiesce without being mad at her. But in the end it didn't matter, if she couldn't find a clever way, she would settle for a direct way, and that was all there was to it. In any case, she was sure of two things, which had only been strengthened by her dream. She wouldn't allow the mistake they had made with Bonnie to happen again and she won't lose this child. She couldn't bear something like that happening again.

"What are you doing?" she mumbled, her train of thought abruptly interrupted as Rhett moved her to her side like she weighed nothing.

"Guarding my sleep against your deadly grip, dearest. Any objections?" he drawled, as his arms encircled her from behind, effectively leaving her with little freedom to move, but making her feel oddly safe in a way. She felt him laughing lightly in her hair when she snuggled closer.

She smiled, but didn't say anything. It hadn't escaped her notice that, for all his quips, in this position one of his hands had come to rest protectively on her abdomen, as if by accident. Her own hand shifted lower over the covers, so that their fingers nearly touched. She held her breath, wondering if he would withdraw now. He didn't.

_She would tell him tomorrow and he wouldn't be upset_ was her last conscious thought. Over the covers, Rhett's hand moved slowly, cautiously until it engulfed hers. But she had already drifted off to sleep.


End file.
